X 


>j  m  - 


HEPHZIBAH   GUINNESS; 
THEE  AND  YOU; 

AND 

A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


BY 

S.  WEIR   MITCHELL,  M.D. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
1880. 


Copyright,  1880,  by  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  Co. 


L  o 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS 5 

THEE  AND  You 97 

A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN 171 


M53O483 


HEPHZIBAH    GUINNESS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

ON  the  fifteenth  day  of  October,  in  the  year  1 807, 
a  young  man  about  the  age  of  twenty  walked  slowly 
down  Front  Street  in  the  quiet  city  of  Philadelphia. 
The  place  was  strange  to  him,  and  with  the  careless 
curiosity  of  youth  he  glanced  about  and  enjoyed  alike 
the  freshness  of  the  evening  hour  and  the  novelty  of 
the  scene. 

To  the  lad — for  he  was  hardly  more — the  air  was 
delicious,  because  only  the  day  before  he  had  first  set 
foot  on  shore  after  a  wearisome  ocean-voyage.  All 
the  afternoon  a  torrent  of  rain  had  fallen,  but  as  he 
paused  and  looked  westward  at  the  corner  of  Cedar 
Street,  the  lessening  rain,  of  which  he  had  taken 
little  heed,  ceased  of  a  sudden,  and  below  the  dun 
masses  of  swiftly-changing  clouds  the  western  sky 
became  all  aglow  with  yellow  light,  which  set  a  rain 
bow  over  the  broad  Delaware  and  touched  with  gold 
the  large  drops  of  the  ceasing  shower. 

The  young  man  stood  a  moment  gazing  at  the 
changeful  sky,  and  then  with  a  pleasant  sense  of 

5 


6  HEPHZ1BAH  GUINNESS. 

sober  contrast  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  broken 
roof-lines  and  broad  gables  of  Front  Street,  noting 
how  sombre  the  wetted  brick  houses  became,  and 
how  black  the  shingled  roofs  with  their  patches  of 
tufted  green  moss  and  smoother  lichen.  Then  as  he 
looked  he  saw,  a  few  paces  down  the  street,  two 
superb  buttonwoods  from  which  the  leaves  were  flit 
ting  fast,  and  his  quick  eye  caught  the  mottled  love 
liness  of  their  white  and  gray  and  green  boles. 
Drawn  by  the  unusual  tints  of  these  stately  trunks, 
he  turned  southward,  and  walking  towards  them, 
stopped  abruptly  before  the  quaint  house  above  which 
they  spread  their  broad  and  gnarled  branches. 

The  dwelling,  of  red  and  black-glazed  bricks,  set 
corner  to  corner,  was  what  we  still  call  a  double  house, 
having  two  windows  on  either  side  of  a  door,  over 
which  projected  a  peaked  pent-house  nearly  hidden 
by  scarlet  masses  of  Virginia  creeper,  which  also 
clung  about  the  windows  and  the  roof,  and  almost 
hid  the  chimneys.  The  house  stood  back  from  the 
street,  and  in  front  of  it  were  two  square  grass-plots 
set  round  with  low  box  borders.  A  paling  fence, 
freshly  whitewashed,  bounded  the  little  garden,  and 
all  about  the  house  and  its  surroundings  was  an  air 
of  tranquil,  easy  comfort  and  well-bred  dignity. 

Along  the  whole  line  of  Front  Street — which  was 
then  the  fashionable  place  of  residence — the  house- 
fronts  were  broken  by  white  doorways  with  Doric 
pillars  of  wood,  such  as  you  may  see  to-day  in  cer 
tain  city  streets  as  you  turn  aside  from  the  busy  Strand 
in  London.  There  were  also  many  low  Dutch  stoops 
or  porches,  some  roofed  over  and  some  uncovered, 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  j 

but  few  mansions  as  large  and  important  as  the  house 
we  have  described. 

As  the  rain  ceased  old  men  with  their  long  pipes 
came  out  on  the  porches,  and  women's  heads  peeped 
from  open  windows  to  exchange  bits  of  gossip,  while 
up  and  down  the  pavements,  as  if  this  evening  chat 
were  an  every-day  thing,  men  of  all  classes  wandered 
to  take  the  air  so  soon  as  the  fierce  afternoon  storm 
had  spent  its  force. 

As  the  young  stranger  moved  along  among  sparse 
groups  of  gentlemen  and  others,  he  was  struck  with 
the  variety  of  costume.  The  middle-aged  and  old  ad 
hered  to  the  knee-breeches  and  buckles,  the  younger 
wore  pantaloons  of  tight-fitting  stocking-net,  with 
shoes  and  silk  stockings,  or  sometimes  high  boots 
with  polished  tops  adorned  with  silk  tassels.  It  was 
a  pretty,  picturesque  street-scene,  with  its  variety  of 
puce-colored  or  dark  velvet  coats  and  ample  cravats 
under  scroll-brimmed  beaver  hats. 

The  sailor  of  1807  dressed  like  the  sailor  of  to-day, 
and  the  lad's  figure  would  have  seemed  no  more 
strange  now  than  it  did  then.  But  a  certain  pride  of 
carriage,  broad  shoulders  set  off  by  a  loose  jacket, 
and  clothes  tight  on  narrow  hips,  drew  appreciative 
looks  as  he  passed ;  and  the  eye  which  wandered 
upward  must  have  dwelt  pleased,  I  fancy,  on  the 
brown,  handsome  face,  with  its  strong  lines  of  fore 
head  and  a  mouth  of  great  sweetness  above  a  some 
what  over-large  chin. 

As  the  young  man  drew  near  to  the  buttonwoods 
a  notable-looking  person  came  with  slow  and  thought- 
laden  steps  from  the  south.  This  gentleman  was  a 


8  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

man  of  six  feet  two  or  three  inches,  and  of  so  large 
and  manly  a  build  that  his  great  height  was  not  ob 
servable.  His  face  was  largely  modelled  like  his 
figure,  and  apart  from  his  dress  he  looked  better 
fitted  to  have  ridden  at  the  head  of  a  regiment  than 
to  have  dwelt  amidst  the  quietness  of  early  Phil 
adelphia.  The  younger  man  saw,  with  the  eye  of 
one  wont  to  take  note  of  men's  thews  and  sinews, 
the  gigantic  grace  of  the  figure  before  him,  and  his 
curious  glances  slipped  from  the  low,  scroll-brimmed 
gray  beaver  hat  to  the  straight-cut  coat  with  its  cloth 
buttons,  and  at  last  rested  with  approval  on  the  plain 
shoes,  devoid  of  buckle,  and  the  ample  gray  calves 
above  them. 

As  the  drab  giant  turned  to  enter  the  gate  of  the 
house  the  young  man  followed  him  with  his  gaze, 
and  a  gleam  of  pleasure  crossed  his  face  as  another 
of  the  persons  in  our  little  drama  came  into  view. 
For  as  he  looked  the  upper  half  of  the  house-door, 
on  which  was  a  heavy  brass  knocker,  opened,  and 
a  woman  of  about  thirty-five  years,  leaning  on  the 
upper  edge  of  the  lower  .half  of  the  door,  became 
suddenly  aware  of  the  tall  Quaker  coming  up*  the 
walk.  Resting  her  arms  on  the  ledge,  she  looked 
out  over  the  little  space,  and  called  aloud,  quite 
briskly,  "  Marguerite !  Marguerite  !"  Instantly  from 
between  the  house  and  the  garden-wall  to  the  south 
of  it  came,  as  at  the  call  of  the  prompter,  yet  another 
of  our  actors ;  and  it  was  for  her  the  young  sailor 
stood  still,  like  a  dog  on  point. 

The  girl  he  saw  was  possibly  sixteen  years  old, 
and  was  dressed  in  the  plainest  of  Friends'  attire,  but 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  g 

as  young  people  of  that  sect  were  rarely  clad  in  those 
days,  in  a  simple  but  costly  gray  silk  gown,  with  the 
traditional  folds  of  fine  muslin  about  the  throat,  a 
plain  silk  kerchief  pinned  back  on  the  shoulders,  and 
a  transparent  cap  closely  drawn  about  the  face.  Un 
der  this  cap  was  wicked  splendor  of  hair,  which  might 
have  been  red,  and  had  vicious  ways  of  curling  out 
here  and  there  from  the  bondage  of  the  cap,  as  if  to 
see  what  the  profane  world  was  like.  Within  the 
sober  boundaries  of  her  Quaker  head-gear  was  a  face 
which  prophetic  nature  meant  should  be  of  a  stately 
beauty  in  years  to  come,  but  which  just  now  was 
simply  gracious  with  changing  color  and  the  tender 
loveliness  which  looks  out  on  the  world  from  the 
threshold  of  maturity. 

At  this  moment  a  woman  of  middle  age,  in  the 
most  severe  and  accurate  of  Quaker  dress,  crossed 
the  street,  and  catching  the  little  garden-gate  as  it 
swung  to  behind  the  man,  went  in  just  after  him. 
The  resolute  shelter  of  the  Friends'  bonnet  hid  the 
woman's  face  from  all  save  those  towards  whom  she 
turned  it,  or  the  young  sailor  might  have  seen  it 
lower  and  grow  hard ;  for  as  she  went  along  the  path 
of  red  gravel  the  young  girl  danced  merrily  up  to 
the  door  at  the  call  of  the  lady  who  stood  within  it. 
In  her  bosom  the  child  had  set  a  bunch  of  late  moss 
roses,  and  over  her  cap  and  across  her  breast  and 
around  her  waist  had  twined  a  string  of  the  dark-red 
berries  from  which  spring  the  scant  calices  of  the 
sweetbrier  and  wild  rose. 

The  woman  in  the  doorway  was  fashionably  clad 
in  a  short-waisted  dark  velvet  dress,  with  tight-fitting 


I0  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

sleeves  ending  at  the  upper  forearm  in  a  fall  of  rich 
lace.  She  wore  her  abundant  black  hair  coiled  on  the 
back  of  her  head,  with  little  half  curls  on  the  fore 
head.  The  face  below  them  was  dark,  sombre,  and 
handsome,  with  an  expression  of  sadness  which  rarely 
failed  to  impress  painfully  those  who  saw  her  for  the 
first  time.  She  smiled  gravely  and  quietly  as  she 
saw  the  growing  look  of  annoyance  on  the  face  of 
the  Quakeress  and  the  half-awed,  half-amused  ex 
pression  on  that  of  her  young  niece  as  she  too  caught 
a  glance  of  reprobation. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Guinness,"  she  said.  Most 
women  of  her  class,  who  had  been  Friends,  would 
have  called  the  new-comer  by  his  first  name,  but  this 
woman,  who  had  been  bred  a  Quaker,  but  had  early 
left  their  ranks  for  those  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
set  her  face  somewhat  against  Quaker  manners,  and 
in  quitting  their  Society  had  totally  left  behind  her 
all  their  ways  and  usages. 

A  sense  of  joy  lit  up  the  large  features  of  the 
Friend  as  he  answered,  "  Thou  art  well,  I  trust  ?  and 
were  I  thee  I  would  have  my  picture  made  as  thou 
art  now,  in  the  frame  of  the  doorway,  with  the  door 
at  the  end  of  the  entry  open  behind  thee  to  make  a 
square  of  gold  out  of  the  western  sky.  It  was  art 
fully  devised,  Elizabeth.  As  a  Friend  I  am  shocked 
at  thee." 

At  this  playful  speech — during  which  he  had  taken 
her  hand  in  greeting — Miss  Howard's  face  took  a 
half-amused,  half-annoyed  expression,  which  Arthur 
Guinness  quickly  comprehended  as  he  heard  a  short, 
cough  behind  him,  and  dropping  Elizabeth's  hand 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


II 


turned  to  see  his  sister  Hephzibah,  who  was  regard 
ing  with  set,  stern  visage  the  scared  child  beside  them. 

Caught  in  the  brilliant  autumn  jewelries  she  had 
gathered  from  the  garden-wall,  the  girl,  who  knew 
well  the  hard  face  now  turned  upon  her,  at  first 
caught  up  her  treasures  and  was  moved  to  fly,  but 
on  a  sudden  checked  herself,  and  pausing  drew  up 
her  pretty  figure  with  a  certain  pride,  and  faced  the 
enemy  with  a  look  half  determined,  half  amused. 

The  stately  aunt  in  the  doorway  fluttered  her  fan 
to  and  fro,  and  said,  smiling,  "  Good-evening,  Heph 
zibah.  What  is  it  ails  you  ?" 

"Nothing  ails  me,"  replied  the  Quakeress:  "the 
ailment  is  here.  It  is  the  disease  of  the  world's  van 
ities  in  this  child;"  and  turning  to  the  girl  she  went 
on :  "I  had  hoped  that  thou  hadst  learned  to  talk 
less  and  to  laugh  less  ;  and,  knowing  well  thy  father's 
wishes,  thou  wouldst  do  better  to  avoid  such  gew 
gaws  as  these  corals,  which  I  suppose  my  friend 
Elizabeth  hath  unwisely  tempted  thee  with." 

The  girl  made  a  stern  effort  to  check  her  mirth  at 
her  guardian's  mistake,  but  Nature  was  too  much 
mistress  of  this  blithe  playmate  of  hers,  who  sud 
denly  broke  into  a  riot  of  laughter,  saying  between 
her  bursts  of  mirth,  "  Oh,  but  thou  wilt  pardon  me, 

and  thou  knowest  I  never  can  help  it Oh,  thou 

knowest !  and  oh  dear  !"  and  so  saying  fled  in  despair 
to  hide  her  irreverent  mirth. 

The  Quakeress's  face  grew  darker  as  she  turned  to 
Elizabeth.,  "Are  these  thy  lessons?"  she  said. 

"  Good  gracious  !"  said  Miss  Howard.  "  How  ut 
terly  absurd  !  How  could  you  make  so  droll  a  mis- 


12  HEPHZIBAH   GUINNESS. 

take?  Those  were  not  corals  of  the  sea,  but  the 
jewels  of  our  garden." 

"  It  little  matters,"  replied  Hephzibah.  "  Thou  art 
of  our  people  no  longer,  and  Friends'  ways  are  not 
thy  ways,  and  thou  couldst  not  help  but  hurt  us,  even 
if  thou  wouldst  not." 

"  And  most  surely  I  would  not,  as  you  ought  to 
know  by  this  time.  Friends'  ways  are  not  my  ways  ; 
and  yet  I  have  obeyed  my  good  brother  as  to  this 
child  most  straitly,  even  when — yes,  even  when  I 
have  thought  it  wrong  to  make  so  uncheerful  a  life 
for  her,  knowing  well — oh,  my  God ! — how  sad  and 
lonely  it  is  to  be  through  all  the  years  to  come." 
She  said  these  words  as  she  stood,  still  holding  the 
open  door  and  staring  past  the  woman  she  addressed, 
as  if  she  saw  the  long  vista  of  time  and  the  dark 
procession  of  those  years  of  gloom. 

Arthur  looked  wistfully  into  her  eyes  as  he  passed 
her  and  went  into  the  house ;  and  his  sister,  with  a 
look  of  annoyance,  said  sharply,  "  I  have  other 
work  to  do ;"  and  turning  left  them. 

No  word  of  all  this  came  to  the  ears  of  the  young 
sailor,  but  what  he  saw  was  as  it  were  a  pantomime. 
The  girl  with  her  rebel  laughter ;  the  stately  Eliza 
beth  Howard,  whose  air  and  dress  and  bearing 
brought  some  unbidden  moisture  to  his  eyes ;  the 
Quakeress;  the  stern,  half-laughing  giant  in  drab, 
— all  helped  to  make  up  for  him  a  little  drama  within 
the  white  palings. 

"  Comnte  c'est  drble!"  he  murmured.  "  Qu'elle 
est  belle  la  Marguerite  /"  and  so  saying  turned  and 
went  lazily  southward  down  Front  Street,  glancing 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  ^ 

around  as  he  went  as  if  looking  for  some  one  whose 
coming  he  expected.  Musing  over  the  chances 
which  had  left  him  landless,  homeless,  and  money 
less,  the  young  Frenchman  strode  along  gayly,  still 
keeping  a  lookout  for  his  friend.  As  he  passed 
Christian  Street  and  the  houses  grew  scarce,  he  saw 
coming  towards  him  the  person  whom  he  sought. 
The  new-comer  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  dressed 
somewhat  carefully  in  rather  worn  black  clothes 
with  patched  black  silk  stockings,  and  low  shoes 
with  silver  buckles.  The  style  of  costume,  espe 
cially  the  rounded  low  beaver  hat  with  the  rim 
scrolled  upwards  in  triple  rolls,  marked  the  owner 
for  an  emigrant  abbe, — a  figure  and  character  which 
had  become  familiar  enough  in  Philadelphia,  where 
the  French  Revolution  had  stranded  numberless  un 
happy  waifs  of  all  classes. 

The  abbe  was  a  pleasant-looking  man  of  rather 
delicate  features  and  build,  but  somewhat  ruddy  for 
so  slight  a  person.  A  certain  erectness  of  carriage 
was  possibly  the  inheritance  by  middle  life  of  a  youth 
spent  in  camps,  and  around  the  mouth  some  traitor 
lines  bespoke  love  of  ease  and  good  living,  and  gave 
reason  to  guess  why  he  had  found  it  pleasant  to 
abandon  his  regiment  for  the  charming  convent 
which  looked  downward  over  Divonne  upon  the 
distant  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  across  miles  of  walnut- 
groves  and  tangled  vineyards  which  clothe  the  slopes 
of  the  purple  Jura. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  the  younger  man :  "you  are 
the  welcome." 

The  abbe  laughed.     "  If  you  will  speak  English," 


I4  HEPHZIBAH    GUINNESS. 

he  said,  in  accents  which  but  slightly  betrayed  his 
birth,  as  indeed  they  did  rarely  save  in  moments  of 
excitement — "  if  you  will  speak  English,  say,  '  You 
are  welcome.'  " 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  that  I  find  it  difficult,"  returned  the 
sailor ;  "  and  how  strange  is  all  the  land  we  have 
here!" 

"  All  lands  seem  strange  to  the  young,"  said  the 
abbe,  "  but  to  me  none  are  strange ;  and  all  are  much 
the  same,  because  no  climate  disagrees  with  all  wines 
or  with  cards,  and  at  forty  one  is  at  least  a  little 
philosoplie.  It  seems  a  tranquil  town,  and  what  they 
call  comfortable." 

"  At  the  least,"  answered  the  other,  "  we  shall  find 
here  a  safe  home,  and,  as  I  trust,  something  to  keep 
to  us  the  morsel  of  bread,  until  better  times  arrive 
to  our  dear  France.  I  have  given  my  letters,  and  I 
have  hope  to  get  me  a  place  in  the  bureau  of  this 
Monsieur  Guinness.  It  will  seem  strange  at  first." 

"  Not  less  than  to  me  to  teach  these  young  misses 
to  talk  the  tongue  of  France,"  said  the  abbe. 

"  I  have  seen  one  this  evening,"  returned  the  sailor, 
"  which  I  should  find  pleasing  to  teach." 

"  Ah,  you  find  them  pretty  ?"  said  the  abbe.  "  Bet 
ter,  cher  baron,  to  forget  the  beau  sexe  :  we  are  not  of 
Versailles  to-day." 

"  You  should  remember,  in  turn,"  answered  his 
nephew,  "  that  I  am  here  only  M.  de  Vismes ;  we  are 
barons  no  longer." 

"You  have  reason,  Henri,"  said  the  elder  man. 
"  It  is  like  those  little  comedies  we  used  to  play  at 
the  Trianon.  And,  ma  foil  here  I  saw  but  yesterday 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  j^ 

M.  le  Comte  de  St.  Pierre  teaching  to  dance,  as  I  saw 

him  once  in  that  charming  little  play How  one's 

memory  fails  !  What  was  it,  Henri  ?  But  no  mat 
ter  ;  all  life  is  to  act.  Ah,  I  think  that  has  been  said 
before.  How  stupid  to  say  what  already  has  been 
said  !  But  alas  for  our  grandchildren  !  it  will  be  for 
them  impossible  to  say  something  new." 

"  What  difference  ?"  laughed  the  younger  man. 
"  There  are  things  which  to  say  and  to  hear  shall  be 
pleasant  always  ;"  and  the  lad  kept  silence,  thinking 
of  the  little  nothings  his  mother  had  said  to  him,  a 
child,  when,  hand  in  hand,  they  wandered  beside  the 
braided  streamlets  of  Divonne. 

Meanwhile  the  abbe  chatted  of  camp  and  court, 
until  at  last,  as  they  strolled  along,  lonely  men,  past 
the  open  windows  and  crowded  steps, — for  the  even 
ing  was  warm, — the  younger  exclaimed,  "  Here,  some 
place,  I  ought  to  find  the  house  of  Monsieur  Guin 
ness,  which  I  was  to  see  to-night.  Is  it  already  too 
soon  ?" 

"  Ah,  not,  I  think ;  but  we  may  wait  yet  a  little, 
and  return  again." 

"And  this  is  it,"  said  the  younger,  pausing. 

The  house  was  a  plain  brick  dwelling,  with  the 
usual  wooden  Doric  pillars,  painted  white. 

Marking  the  place,  the  two  Frenchmen  strolled 
away  up  Front  Street,  to  return  somewhat  later  in 
the  evening.  They  fell  into  silence  as  they  walked, 
and  the  elder  man  amused  himself  with  a  vague  kind 
of  wonder  at  the  caractere  serieux  and  tout  a  fait 
Anglais  of  his  nephew,  little  dreaming  that  the  young 
man  was  in  like  fashion  marvelling  that  through 


1 6  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

camp  and  court  and  cloister,  and  sad  prisons  and  in 
awful  nearness  of  death  on  the  scaffold,  his  uncle 
should  have  kept  his  gay,  careless,  sceptical  nature, 
his  capacity  to  find  some  trivial  pleasure  in  all  things. 
He  could  not  understand  how  a  man  who  had  been 
so  close  to  death  in  many  shapes  should  yet  have 
brought  away  with  him  no  shadow  of  its  sombre 
fellowship,  and  should  have  learned  only  to  disbe 
lieve  and  to  doubt.  He  himself,  beneath  the  natural 
childlike  joyousness  of  his  race  which  made  hard 
ships  light,  concealed  for  use  in  darker  hours  a  firm 
will  and  a  sober  steadiness  of  moral  balance,  which 
perhaps  came  to  him  from  his  English  mother,  and 
dowered  him  with  a  manhood  planned  for  upright, 
honorable  pursuit  of  noble  purposes, — a  sweet,  grave, 
earnest  nature,  with  the  even  sunny  temper  of  a 
sunny  day. 


CHAPTER    II. 

INTO  the  parlor  of  the  house  they  had  just  passed 
came  a  few  minutes  later  a  tall,  gaunt,  angular 
woman,  whose  stiff  and  bony  outlines  were  made 
mercilessly  evident  by  a  closely-fitting  drab  dress 
with  tight  plain  sleeves  and  the  studiously  simple 
muslin  worn  only  by  rigid  Friends.  Her  face  was 
colorless  like  her  dress ;  her  hair,  almost  a  perfect 
white,  was  worn  flat  under  her  cap;  her  features 
were  large  and  not  lacking  in  a  certain  nobleness  of 
outline,  but  strangely  wanting  in  any  expression  save 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  ij 

that  of  severe  and  steady  self-control.  The  room 
was  square,  and  plainly  panelled  in  white-painted 
pine;  the  furniture  throughout  of  rigid,  upright  ma 
hogany,  with  black  hair-cloth  seats  to  the  chairs. 
On  a  claw-toed  table  double  silver  candelabra  with 
wax  candles  would  have  but  dimly  lighted  the  room 
had  it  not  been  for  the  ruddy  glow  of  a  hickory- 
wood  fire  which  flashed  across  large,  brightly-pol 
ished  andirons  and  a  brass  fender  cut  into  delicate 
open-work.  The  walls  were  white;  the  floor  was 
without  carpet,  and  sanded  in  curious  figures. 

Miss  Hephzibah  Guinness  paused  as  she  entered 
the  room  and  looked  critically  about  her.  Then  she 
snuffed  the  candles  and  rang  a  small  silver  bell 
which  stood  on  the  table.  Presently  appeared  a 
little  black  maid,  clad  much  like  her  mistress,  but 
in  rather  less  accurate  fashion.  Mistress  Hephzibah 
pointed  sternly  to  a  corner  of  the  room  where  an 
active  spider  had  spread  his  net. 

The  little  maid  examined  it  curiously :  "  Done 
made  it  sence  dis  mornin'." 

"And  this  also?"  said  the  lady,  indicating  a  place 
on  the  floor  where  the  carefully-made  figures  traced 
by  sifting  the  sand  out  of  a  colander  were  incom 
plete.  "  Thou  shouldst  have  been  as  careful  as  the 
spider.  Consider  his  work, — how  neat,  Dorcas." 

"  Couldn't  consider  dat,  missus,  ef  I  had  a-sp'iled 
him  wid  de  brush." 

The  face  of  the  mistress  showed  no  signs  of 
amusement  at  this  ready  retort.  "  Brush  away 
the  web,"  she  said,  "  and  keep  thy  thoughts  to  thy 
self." 

b  2* 


!g  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

The  little  maid  bestirred  herself  briskly  under  the 
grave  eye  of  her  mistress,  and  presently  the  knocker 
was  heard. 

"  Thy  master  is  out,"  said  Hephzibah,  "  but  I  will 
see  any  one  who  may  call." 

In  a  moment  or  two  the  maid  came  back.  "Two 
gentlemen  to  see  the  master,"  said  the  girl. 

"  And  thou  hast  left  them  to  stand  in  the  entry ! 
Bid  them  come  in  at  once." 

A  moment  later  the  Abbe  de  Vismes  and  his 
nephew  entered  the  room.  The  younger  man  cast  a 
glance  of  amused  curiosity  at  the  apartment  and  at 
its  sombre  occupant,  who  advanced  to  meet  them. 
The  abbe  bowed  profoundly,  without  showing  a  trace 
of  the  amazement  he  felt  at  this  novel  interior  and 
the  tall  and  serious  figure  before  him.  "  Allow  me," 
he  said,  "to  present  myself:  I  am  the  Abbe  de 
Vismes,  and  this  is  my  nephew,  Monsieur  de  Vismes. 
We  have  an  appointment  with  Monsieur  Guinness. 
Have  I  the  great  pleasure  to  see  his  wife  ?" 

"  I  am  his  sister,"  said  Hephzibah,  shortly.  As  he 
named  himself  a  shudder  passed  over  her,  and  she 
steadied  herself  by  seizing  the  back  of  a  chair  as 
she  thought,  "  Alas !  is  the  bitter  bread  coming  back 
on  the  waters  ?"  Then  she  recovered  her  control 
with  an  effort,  and  added,  aloud,  "  My  brother  is  not 
married.  Take  seats,  friends." 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  the  baron  to  himself,  "  what  a 
droll  country !  Elle  le  tutoie.  It  must  be  a  fashion 
of  Quakre." 

"  I  should  well  have  known  you  for  the  sister," 
said  the  abbe  :  "  the  likeness  is  plain  to  see  ;"  and  this 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  !Q 

was  true.  He  had  seen  the  brother,  and  was  struck 
now  with  the  resemblance  of  features  and  the  unlike- 
tless  of  expression. 

"  It  hath  been  spoken  of  by  many,"  she  said,  re 
plying  to  his  remark.  "  My  brother  will  be  in  by 
and  by.  You  must  be,  I  think,  of  the  unhappy  ones 
who  have  been  cast  on  our  shores  by  the  sad  warfare 
in  France  ?" 

"  We  are  indeed  unfortunate  emigres,"  returned 
the  abbe,  "  who  have  brought  letters  from  friends  of 
your  brother." 

"  From  France  ?"  she  exclaimed,  hastily. 

"  No ;  ah,  no,"  he  answered ;  "  from  England." 

"  And,"  she  said,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  "  and — 
and  you  do  not  know  any  one  here  ?" 

"  We  have  that  ill-fortune,"  he  returned, "  but  hope 
soon  to  make  friends.  As  yet  it  is  all  most  strange 
to  us,  and  as  poverty  is  a  dear  tailor,  I  might  ask 
that  we  be  excused  to  present  ourselves  in  a  dress  so 
unfit.  My  nephew  came  a  sailor,  and  the  dress  he 
has  not  yet  found  time  to  alter." 

The  woman's  changeless  face  turned  toward  the    j 
lad  and  met  his  ready  smile,  and   she  had   in    her    j 
heart  a  new  pang,  because  she  bethought  her,  "  Had    \ 
I  been  a  wife  and  mother,  the  son  I  might  have  had 
would  have  been  like  this  lad  smiling  at  me  to-day." 
But  the  answer  she  made  was  like  many  answers, — 
the   thought  least  near  to  her  heart:  "  The  young 
man's  apparel  is  well  for  his  way  of  life,  and  hath 
the  value   of  fitness.      But  perhaps    thou   dost    not 
know  that  we  of  the  Society  of  Friends  observe  a 
certain  plainness  of  dress  ourselves,  and  are  for  this 


20  HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS. 

reason  but  little  apt  to  criticise  the  dress  which  is 
plain  because  of  wear  or  poverty  ?" 

"  Without  doubt,  then,"  laughed  the  abbe,  glanc 
ing  down  at  his  shining  breeches  and  well-darned 
hose,  "  I  should  pass  well  the  trial.  They  are  all 
grown  to  a  pleasant  likeness  of  tint  by  reason  that 
they  have  shared  like  trials  of  sun  and  rain, 
and,  mon  Dieu !  they  are  as  well  worn  as  my  con 
science." 

Hephzibah  turned  upon  him  with  a  real  sense  of 
shock,  and  as  one  wont  in  meeting  to  obey  the  im 
pulse  of  speech  when  it  grew  strong,  she  said,  "  I 
understand  not  thy  language, — indeed,  almost  none 
of  it, — but  yet  enough  to  know  thou  hast  spoken  as 
lightly  of  the  great  Maker  as  unwisely  of  the  friend 
we  call  conscience.  Do  I  rightly  suppose  thee  to  be 
a  minister  among  thy  people  ?" 

The  lad  ceased  smiling  as  he  saw  her  graver  face, 
and  the  abbe,  profoundly  puzzled  at  the  sermon  his 
slight  text  had  brought  out,  and  yet  seeing  he  had 
made  a  false  step,  said,  "  Alas !  I  have  been  so  long 
away  from  my  flock  that  I  am  forgetting  the  simple 
tongue  of  the  shepherd." 

The  woman  did  not  see  the  amused  twinkle  in  the 
eye  of  this  gay  shepherd  of  the  joyous  Trianon, 
and  missed  too  the  sudden  glance  of  amazement  in 
the  face  of  the  nephew.  She  was  engaged,  as  always, 
in  an  abrupt,  suspicious  study  of  her  own  motives  in 
speaking,  and  would  have  wished  to  be  silent  a  while. 
But  there  was  need  to  speak,  and  therefore  she  said, 
"  I  am  an  unfit  vessel  for  the  bearing  of  reproach  to 
another,  but  thy  words  startled  me,  and  the  thought 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  2I 

I  was  thinking  spoke  itself.  Thou  wilt  consider 
kindly  my  saying." 

The  abbe  was  somewhat  bewildered  at  the  English 
used,  but  he  said,  "  The  fair  sex  hath  its  privileges  to 
speak  what  it  will,  madame :  it  is  ours  to  obey." 

Hephzibah  disliked  the  gay  answer,  and  turning  to 
the  young  sailor  said,  "  Thou  hast  come  to  shore  in 
our  pleasant  October  weather.  Has  it  its  like  in 
France  ?" 

"  Ah  me !"  he  answered,  "  they  gather  the  vintage 
these  days  on  the  slopes  of  the  Jura,  and  the  sun  is 

less  warm  than  ours,  and Pardon,  I  like  it  here." 

He  paused,  with  a  choking  in  his  throat  as  he  re 
membered  the  yellowing  walnut  groves  and  the  gray 
chateau  of  Dex  and  the  distant  sapphire  lake. 

Hephzibah's  face  softened  anew.  "  It  is  hard,"  she 
said,  "  to  leave  friends  and  home,  but  this  is  perhaps 
a  way,  among  many,  to  soften  the  hearts  which  are 
grown  hard.  And  He  has  many  ways  to  touch  us~\ 
— many  ways,"  she  added  musingly,  for  she  was 
thinking  of  what  a  soul-quake  had  shaken  her  own 
being  at  the  sound  of  a  name  unheard  for  years. 

"  Ah,  madame,"  he  said,  "  my  heart  is  not  hard, 
and  the  world  seemed  so  sweet  to  me  once,  when  all 
those  that  I  loved  did  live." 

"  But  perchance  they  died  that  thou  mightst  more 
truly  live,"  said  Hephzibah,  in  calm  technical  tones. 

"  Then  I  would  be  dead  rather,"  said  young  De 
Vismes  fiercely,  puzzled  and  hurt. 

"Ah  me!"  said  the  abbe.  "You  have  well  said, 
madame.  When  that  we  are  gone  past  many  troubles 
it  is  that  we  learn  to  live.  Let  us  make  haste  to  en- 


22  HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS. 

joy  the  sun  and  the  wine  and  the  pleasant  things,  as 
the  wise  Solomon  has  bidden  us." 

"  But  that  is  so  little  of  life !"  said  his  nephew,  sadly. 

"  And  I  fear,"  added  Hephzibah,  sternly,  "  that  we 
are  as  them  that  speak  to  one  another  in  strange 
tongues,  not  understanding.  But  here  comes  my 
brother." 

As  she  spoke  Arthur  Guinness  entered  the  room, 
wearing  his  hat  after  the  fashion  of  Friends.  "  These," 
said  his  sister,  "  be  friends  which  have  come  to  thee, 
Arthur,  with  letters  from  thy  correspondents  in  Eng 
land." 

"  They  are  welcome,"  said  he.  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
thee  again ;  and  this  must  be  the  nephew  of  whom 
thou  hast  spoken,  and  whose  letters  I  have  had." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  abbe, — "  my  nephew  the  Baron  de 
Vismes." 

Arthur  Guinness  took  the  lad's  hand,  smiling,  and 
saying,  "  Well,  if  he  is  to  be  one  of  my  young  men, 
it  will  be  best  that  he  lay  aside  his  title,  and  his  name 

is Yes,  I  remember  in  my  letter, — it  is  Henry. 

He  shall  be  for  us  plain  Henry,  after  the  manner  of 
Friends." 

Then  his  sister  excused  herself  and  went  out, 
leaving  them  to  discuss  the  lad's  future.  As  she 
climbed  the  stairs  her  limbs  became  weak,  and,  her 
features  relaxing,  her  face  too  grew  weary.  "  What 
have  I  done,"  she  said,  "  wherein  I  took  not  counsel 
with  the  Spirit?  These  are  thoughts  which  bring 
madness  :  I  will  not  harbor  them.  It  must  have  been 
done  wisely."  So  she  stood  a  moment  before  the 
tall  old  Wagstaffe  clock  which  faced  her  at  the  head 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  2$ 

of  the  stairs  ticking  solemnly.  Then  she  gathered 
up  her  strength,  saying,  "  Yet  a  little  while,  a  little 
while !  Why  dost  thou  mock  me  with  the  memory 
of  a  doubtful  hour?"  and  then  went  on  to  her  cham 
ber  in  silence.  Twice  as  she  moved  along  the  dark, 
cold  entry,  hearing  the  busy  ticking  close  behind  her, 
— twice  she  turned  resolutely,  with  a  feeling  as  if 
the  tall  old  coffin-like  clerk  of  Time  were  pursuing 
her  steps. 

As  she  closed  the  door  of  her  chamber  she  heard 
with  a  shiver  the  ample  ringing  tones  of  her  brother's 
voice.  It  was  for  her  just  then  a  sound  of  horror. 
Why,  she  did  not  pause  to  ask  herself:  perhaps  be 
cause  its  wholesome  pleasantness  was  in  too  sharp  ] 
contrast  with  her  new  misery, — perhaps  because  it 
brought  before  her,  in  the  possible  form  of  a  severe 
judge,  the  man  she  loved  and  honored,  and  also  feared 
the  most.  Theirs  were  richly-contrasted  natures, — 
each  a  compound  of  what  Nature  and  a  creed  had 
made ;  for  earnestly-believing  people  are  themselves 
and  a  creed,  or  a  creed  and  themselves, — and  she  was 
a  creed  and  herself, — and  he  was  himself  above  all 
and  a  creed. 

Arthur  Guinness  was  saying  cheerily,  "  Will  you 
come  up  to  my  study  ?     We  smoke  no  pipes  in  my 

sister's   room,  because   it  pleases  her  not,  and ] 

Well,  in  my  room  here  it  will  be  no  offence  to  the 
tender-minded  among  Friends  who  may  chance  to 
come,  and  who  like  not  such  vanities." 

"  We  shall  have  pleasure  to  smoke  with  you,"  said 
the  abbe,  following  him. 

At  the  head  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs  Arthur 


24  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

Guinness  passed  with  his  guests  into  a  room  in  the 
second  story  of  what  all  Philadelphians  know  as  the 
"  back  buildings," — an  arrangement  which  in  later 
years  caused  a  witty  New  Yorker  to  say  that  Phila 
delphians  built  their  houses  like  frying-pans,  and  lived 
in  the  handles. 

The  room  was  sanded,  like  the  parlor,  but  was 
filled  with  books,  and  on  the  table  were  pipes  with 
long  reed  stems,  a  tobacco-pot,  and  two  handsome 
silver  tankards  with  arms  engraved  upon  them. 
Above  the  fire  was  a  genealogical  tree  of  the  Guin 
ness  family,  for,  like  many  Friends  even  to  this  day, 
Arthur  Guinness  took  a  certain  half-concealed  pride 
in  an  honorable  descent  from  ancient  Kentish  stock, 
and  valued  himself  more  than  he  cared  to  state  on 
his  store  of  heavy  plate. 

The  abbe's  eye  took  in  with  approval  the  sober 
luxury  and  air  of  culture  as  they  sat  down  to  their 
pipes,  while  their  host  went  on  to  say,  "  Well,  then, 
it  shall  be  so  arranged :  the  lad  comes  to  my  count 
ing-house;  and  if  thou  art  still  of  the  same  mind  on 
Third  day — which  is  to-morrow — I  will  go  with  thee 
to  Elizabeth  Howard,  who,  I  doubt  not,  will  be 
pleased  to  have  thee  instruct  her  niece  in  the  tongue 
of  France.  I  see  no  need  myself  that  a  child  of 
Friends  should  learn  these  foreign  tongues,  but  as 
her  guardian  I  have  been  somewhat  careful  not  to 
insist  too  much  on  my  own  views." 

"  I  shall  find  it  a  pleasant  task,  no  doubt,"  said  the 
abbe;  "and  might  I  ask  that  you  will  also  do  my 
nephew  the  honor  to  present  him  to  Miss  Howard, 
or  such  other  of  your  friends  as  may  make  it  pleasant 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  2$ 

for  the  lad  ?  I  fear  he  may  find  it  triste  in  this  new 
land." 

Arthur  Guinness  hesitated  :  "  Yes,  yes,  by  and  by. 
But  thou  wilt  pardon  me  if  I  ask  that  I  be  excused 
from  presenting  him  where  there  are  only  women. 
Friend  Elizabeth  hath  some  strong  notions  as  to  the 
bringing  up  of  the  child,  and  she  does  not  wish  that 
she  should  have  acquaintances  among  young  men. 
It  is  a  fancy,  but " 

"  Nay,  but  pardon  me,"  said  the  abbe.  "  I  meant 
not  to  ask  anything  unusual,  and  no  doubt  in  time 
he  will  find  friends." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Guinness.  "  Women  have  their 
ways, — women  have  their  ways ;  but  I  was  not  sorry 
to  mention  this,  because  thou  wilt  be  sure  to  like 
her,  and  what  more  natural  than  some  time  to  ask 
leave  to  take  with  thee  my  young  friend  here  ?  She 
would  without  doubt  say  no,  and  I  may  spare  thee 
annoyance." 

The  abbe  thought  this  frank  speech  strange  enough, 
and  young  De  Vismes,  who  listened  quietly,  felt  an 
odd  sense  of  disappointment ;  but  both  made  haste 
to  turn  the  chat  aside,  and  under  a  cloud  of  smoke 
they  talked  the  evening  away  pleasantly  enough. 

As  they  parted  at  the  door  Arthur  said,  laughingly, 
"  Thou  wilt  pardon,  I  am  sure,  what  I  have  said  of 
my  friend  Elizabeth  Howard.  She  hath  but  this  one 
strangeness,  and  in  all  else  thou  wilt  find  her  a  woman 
of  noble  ways  and  a  great  fulness  of  fresh  and  pleas 
ant  life." 

The  abbe  made  a  courteous  reply,  and  the  two 
strangers  went  away  somewhat  easier  in  mind. 

o 


26  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  following  day,  Miss — or, 
as  it  was  the  usage  then  to  say  of  middle-aged,  un 
married  women,  Mistress — Elizabeth  Howard  sat  at 
the  window  of  her  house  near  the  corner  of  Front 
and  Shippen  Streets.  The  day  was  one  of  those  soft, 
still  October  gifts  when  the  sun  seems  warm  again, 
and  the  winds  stir  not,  and  leaves  cease  to  fall,  and 
the  changing  year  appears  to  relent  and  linger,  and 
the  southward-flitting  robin  loiters,  cheated  for  a  day. 
The  woman  sat  quietly  in  the  open  window,  a  stately 
and,  to  the  least  observant,  a  remarkable-looking 
person.  She  was  in  early  middle  life,  possibly  thirty- 
five.  The  outline  of  her  face  was  of  the  Roman  type, 
delicate  in  the  detail  of  the  light  proud  nostril,  and 
bold  and  noble  in  the  general  contour  of  feature. 
The  mouth  was  a  little  large,  but  clearly  cut,  the 
chin  full  and  decided.  Over  a  forehead  rather  high, 
and  more  strongly  moulded  than  is  common  in 
women,  clustered  plentiful  black  hair,  curled  short 
in  the  fashion  then  oddly  called  Brutus.  A  skin  of 
smooth  dark  rich  nectarine  bloom  made  soft  the  lines 
of  this  face,  which  in  repose  was  at  times  somewhat 
stern.  The  more  acute  observer  would  have  been 
struck  with  the  sombre,  thoughtful  air  of  command 
and  power  in  the  brow,  the  mysterious  sweetness  of 
the  dark-gray  eyes,  and  the  contradictory  lines  of 
mirth  and  humor  about  the  mouth. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  2/ 

Nature  had  here  formed  a  remarkable  character, 
and  circumstance  had  given  it  a  strange  part  to  play 
in  the  drama  of  life. 

In  the  garden  in  front  of  her  and  below  the  window, 
a  charming  contrast,  sat  her  niece  Marguerite,  not 
less  a  contrast  in  her  plainest  of  Friends'  dress  than 
in  the  blonde  beauty  of  her  young  and  fast-ripening 
form. 

Presently  the  large  blue  eyes  ceased  wandering 
from  the  book  on  her  lap  to  the  mottled  buttonwood 
bole  or  the  forms  of  passing  wayfarers  seen  between 
the  snowdrop-bushes.  "  I  promised  my  guardian  to 
read  it,"  she  said ;  and  the  blue  eyes  turned  up  to 
meet  the  friendly  gaze  above  her.  "  But  I  do  not 
like  the  man  in  the  book.  Thee  could  not  read  it: 
thee  would  never  have  liked  Friend  Fox." 

"A  nice  Quaker  you  are!"  said  her  aunt,  laughing. 
"  Say  thou,  thou,  or  you  will  never  learn  to  speak  in 
meeting." 

"I  never  want  to,"  cried  the  girl,  pouting.  "I  like 
bright  things, — red  things,  blue  things.  I  was  never 
meant  to  be  a  Quaker.  Why  may  I  not  go  to 
Christ  Church  with  thee,  and  wear  gay  clothes  like 
the  trees,  aunty?  They  had  no  Fox.  I  wonder 
Master  Penn  did  not  run  away  when  he  saw  the  red 
hickories  and  the  yellow  maples.  I  will  not  read 
it ;"  and  so  saying  she  threw  the  book  on  the  grass, 
and  throwing  a  kiss  to  her  aunt  began  to  pluck  the 
bright  autumn  flowers  at  her  feet. 

"  The  way  was  set  for  you  by  another 
mine,"  said  her  aunt.     "  Be  content  to  walk  in  it, 
Marguerite.     Perhaps  it  is  better  as  it  is." 


28  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  girl, — "yes,  perhaps;  but  when 
I  am  twenty-one  there  will  be  no  '  perhaps.'  " 

"  You  will  always  respect  the  wish  of  your  dead 
father,"  said  Miss  Howard. 

The  girl  looked  grave,  the  elder  woman  troubled. 

"  Is  Marguerite  a  Friend's  name  ?"  said  her  niece, 
pausing  and  facing  her. 

"  No,"  returned  her  aunt.  "  You  know  well,  my 
dear,  that  your  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  and 
that  you  bear  her  name." 

"  And  was  she  of  our  Society,  aunt?"  said  the  girl. 
"  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  her." 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  said  the  elder  woman,  ignoring 
the  question.  "Ah,  I  must  hasten  to  ask  Hephzibah 
to  make  you  a  better  Quaker.  I  am  a  poor  teacher, 
I  think.  I  should  begin  by  dyeing  those  big  blue 
eyes  gray,  and  painting  those  red  cheeks  white,  as 
Hephzibah  did  her  brass  clock  last  year ;"  and  the 
two  laughed  merrily  at  the  remembrance. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you,"  said  the  elder,  "  that  I  had  a 
note  this  morning  telling  me  that  we  are  to  have  the 
honor  to-day  of  a  visit  from  a  committee  of  Friends. 
It  cannot  be  for  me,  and  I  suppose  it  is  about  some 
of  your  madcap  pranks." 

"  Oh,  not  for  me,  surely !"  said  the  girl,  a  little 
scared.  "  That  must  be  Hephzibah  Guinness's  doings. 
I  hate  her !" 

"  Hush !"  said  her  aunt,  smiling.  "  Here  she  comes. 
Get  thee  gone,  little  scamp !" 

"  Of  a  verity,  the  Spirit  persuadeth  me  to  depart," 
said  the  girl  under  her  breath ;  and  hastily  gathering 
her  flowers  in  her  lap  she  fled  around  the  corner  of 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


29 


the  house,  dropping  asters,  Queen  Margarets,  and 
autumn  leaves  here  and  there  as  she  went. 

Her  aunt  rose  from  her  seat  and  went  across  the 
room  to  the  entry  to  open  the  door.  "  My  task  is 
too  hard,"  she  said, — "  too  hard.  The  past  is  so 
black,  and  the  future  so  dark ;  and,  ah  me !  I  am  so 
made  that  to-day  is  sunny  always.  How  can  life  be 
pleasant  to  me  ?  I  wonder  at  myself.  Come  in, 
Hephzibah  ;"  and  so  saying  she  took  the  hand  of  the 
new-comer,  and  the  two  entered  the  parlor. 

It  was  a  room  of  another  kind  from  that  which 
Hephzibah  had  left,  and  under  her  Quaker  bonnet 
the  thin,  gaunt  face  darkened  grimly  as  she  looked 
about  her.  She  had  been  there  a  hundred  times 
before,  but  to-day,  as  always,  it  shocked  her  that 
any  one  should  think  needful  the  luxury  and  color 
with  which  Elizabeth  Howard  delighted  to  surround 
herself.  The  two  women  were  as  much  apart  as 
their  creeds  or  their  social  surroundings ;  and  as  I 
see  them  now  in  that  far-away  time,  in  the  wainscoted 
parlor,  they  are  to  me  sharp  and  vivid  pictures.  In 
a  high-backed  chair  of  exquisitely  carved  dark  ma 
hogany  sat  the  handsome,  richly-clad  lady,  one 
shapely  foot  on  the  shining  brass  fender  which 
fenced  in  a  lazy  wood-fire.  A  large  feather  fan 
guarded  her  face  from  the  blaze,  and,  when  she 
pleased,  from  the  keen  gaze  of  Hephzibah  Guinness, 
whose  stiff  gray  pent-house  bonnet  did  her  a  like 
service  at  times,  since  the  least  turn  of  the  head 
served  to  hide  her  face  from  view. 

These  two  women  were  made  by  Nature  to  dislike 
and  respect  one  another,  and  sometimes  the  dislike 

3* 


20  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

was  uppermost,  and  sometimes  the  respect.  The 
chances  of  life  had  thrown  them  together,  since 
Marguerite  Howard  was  the  ward  of  Arthur  Guin 
ness  and  his  sister,  and  destined  by  her  father's  will 
to  be  educated  in  the  straitest  ways  of  Friends.  The 
male  guardian  had  come  by  degrees  to  concede  to 
his  sister  all  such  minor  details  as  concerned  the 
girl's  dress  and  manners.  And  to  this  strange  and 
implacable  overseeing  on  the  part  of  the  Quakeress, 
Elizabeth  Howard  also  had  yielded  after  many  in 
ward  and  some  outward  struggles.  She  knew  that 
to  be  a  Friend  was  for  years,  at  least,  the  child's 
fate,  and  once  having  submitted  as  to  the  main  ques 
tion,  she  felt  that  rebellion  in  lesser  matters  was  un 
wise,  and  also  unfair  to  the  memory  of  the  brother 
who  had  thus  ordered  his  child's  life.  At  times 
Miss  Howard  rebelled,  but  chiefly  because  she  did 
not  dislike  a  skirmish  with  Hephzibah  Guinness,  and 
because  her  sense  of  humor  was  so  ungovernably 
strong  as  to  break  out  despite  her  better  judgment 
when  things  done  or  ordered  by  the  Quaker  guardians 
struck  her  as  amusing. 

On  the  other  hand,  Hephzibah  was  a  little  afraid 
of  Miss  Howard's  merciless  capacity  for  ridicule,  but 
was  quite  as  ready  as  she  to  cross  swords  in  defence 
of  her  own  views,  which,  owing  to  her  narrow,  well- 
fenced-in  life,  she  had  come  to  regard  with  the  entire 
respect  which  some  people  entertain  for  their  own 
opinions.  Indeed,  could  Hephzibah  Guinness  have 
blotted  out  one  doubtful  act  of  her  life,  it  is  probable 
that  she  would  have  regarded  herself  with  the  most 
absolute  approbation. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  31 

Elizabeth  Howard  was  not  to-day  in  the  best  of 
humors,  owing  chiefly  to  the  curt  note  which  told  her 
of  the  visit  of  a  committee  of  Friends, — an  incident 
of  which  she  had  already  some  previous  and  not  very 
agreeable  remembrances.  She  began  in  Friends'  lan 
guage,  which  she  used  but  rarely,  and  never  to 
Arthur  Guinness,  for  whom  slie  was  surely  and  always 
her  noble  natural  self.  "  Wilt  thou  not  take  off  thy 
bonnet,  Hephzibah?"  she  said:  "the  room  is  warm." 

"  No,"  answered  Hephzibah,  absently ;  "  I  am  not 
warm." 

Then  the  bonnet  itself  struck  Miss  Howard  sud 
denly  in  an  absurd  point  of  view,  as  everything  good 
or  bad  did  at  some  time.  "  How  convenient,"  she 
added,  "  thy  bonnet  must  have  been  to  thee  in  thy 
younger  days !" 

"  Why  ?"  said  Hephzibah,  shortly. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  no  man  could  see  you  were  look 
ing  at  him  ;  and  it's  such  a  nice  hiding-place :  a  fan 
is  a  trifle  to  it." 

"I  had  other  and  wiser  occupation  in  my  youth,"  ^ 
said  Hephzibah,  "  than  to  observe  young  men.     But 
I  have  noticed  that  nothing  is  too  serious  to  escape 
thy  tendency  to  ridicule." 

"  Bless  me !"  returned  Miss  Howard  :  "  is  a  Quaker 
bonnet  a  kind  of  saint's  halo  ?  I  see  nothing  serious 
in  it  except  your  face,  Hephzibah,  which  is  -serious 
enough." 

"  How  is  Margaret?"  said  Hephzibah,  abruptly. 

"  As  usual,"  said  the  other,  feeling  with  a  sense  of 
comfort  that  her  rapier  had  gone  home.  "  Will  you 
see  her  ?" 


32  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"  No,"  said  the  Quakeress.  "  I  would  speak  with 
thee  of  a  matter  about  one  of  my  friends,  if  only 
thou  canst  put  away  thy  mirth  for  a  time  and  con 
sider  gravely  the  thing  I  would  say." 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  laughed  Miss  Howard,  "  I  shall 
be  as  serenely  judicious  as  the  clerk  of  Fourth  Street 
meeting.  But  have  you  not  known  me  well  enough 
and  long  enough  to  be  sure  that  if  I  do  not  get  my 
every-day  supply  of  laughter  I  must  die  ?" 

"  Thou  speakest  lightly  of  dying,"  returned  Heph- 
zibah. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  the  other.  "  I  do  not  know 
the  thing  on  earth  so  grim  or  grave  that  some  time 
it  has  not  a  mirthful  look.  Some  people  cry  and 
love  and  cry  and  pray.  I  believe  there  are  people 
who  can  smile  at  their  prayers  and  yet  pray  as  well. 
Let  us  live  our  lives  honestly.  I  should  laugh  at  a 
jest  if  I  were  dying, — ay,  and  fear  not  that  God 
would  frown.  What  is  it  I  can  do  for  you,  Heph- 
zibah  ?" 

The  Quakeress  hesitated  a  moment,  but  Miss  How 
ard's  last  phrase  was  spoken  kindly  and  gently.  "  I 
have  a — a  friend,"  said  Hephzibah,  halting  a  little  at 
the  unusual  task  of  equivocation.  "  I  have  a  friend 
to  whom  came  many  years  ago  a  chance  to  turn  the 
whole  life  of  a  young  person  from  the  vanity  of 
worldly  ways  and  the  teachings  of  a  hireling  minis 
try  by  hiding — no,  by  not  telling — something  which 
she  knew.  The  concealment  hurt  no  one,  and  saved 
a  life  from  the  vain  ways  of  the  world." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Elizabeth,  in  utter  amazement  at 
the  nature  of  the  statement  set  before  her. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  33 

"I  think  well,"  went  on  Hephzibah,  "of  thy  judg 
ment,  even  when  warped  by  the  errors  of  the  world. 
Wouldst  thou  not  have  done  the  like  ?" 

"I?"  said  Elizabeth,  proudly, —  "I?  You  may 
well  ask  me  what  I  think  of  it, — of  such  a  thing ; 
but  to  ask  me  if  I  would  do  it !  How  can  you  cheat 
a  soul  into  righteousness  ?  This  comes  of  a  creed 
which  can  never  see  beyond  its  own  gray  horizon. 
How  could  you  dare  to  ask  me  such  a  question?" 
And  so  saying  the  woman  rose  and  stood  by  the  fire, 
looking  down  on  the  moveless  visage  of  Hephzibah. 
She  was  a  woman  with  a  sense  of  honor  found  rarely 
enough  among  men,  and  this  thing  stirred  her  as  an 
insult  disturbs  a  man. 

Meanwhile,  Hephzibah  repented  somewhat  her 
design  to  fortify  her  resolution  by  the  idea  of  what 
another  woman  whom  she  respected  might  think  of 
her  action.  "  I  think,"  she  said,  "  thou  hast  perhaps 
misunderstood  me." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Miss  Howard. 

Hephzibah  went  on :  "  But  the  thing  was  a  trifle, 
and  a  soul  may  have  been  saved  from  the  world." 

"From  the  world?  nonsense!"  cried  Elizabeth, 
indignantly, — "  for  the  Society  of  Friends.  I  was 
wrong  to  speak  of  your  creed :  it  is  good  enough. 
But  people  interpret  creeds  oddly ;  and  your  friend 
who  could  have  formed  such  an  idea,  and  kept  up 
such  a  low  cheat,  must  have  looked  at  the  creed  of 
Fox  and  Barclay  as  one  looks  at  a  noble  landscape 
through  a  faulty  window-glass." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  do  thee  a  hurt,"  said  Hephzibah, 
quietly.  "  Things  appear  differently  to  different  peo- 


34  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

pie.  I  never  supposed  the  matter  could  have  seemed 
so  monstrous  to  thee." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Howard,  "  I  want  you  distinctly 
to  understand  me :  it  is  not  a  case  in  which  I  would 
like  to  be  misunderstood.  What  amazes  me  most 
about  it  is  that  you  should  ever  have  had  enough 
doubt  on  the  matter  to  make  it  worth  while  to  talk 
to  me  about  it." 

"  I  did,"  said  Hephzibah,  firmly,  "  but  it  is  as  well 
to  drop  it  now.  Where  is  Margaret  ?" 

"  Marguerite  is  in  the  garden,"  said  Miss  Howard, 
coldly.  "  I  will  call  her." 

"  Before  thou  goest,"  said  Hephzibah,  "  I  would 
say  that  I  think  no  worse  of  myself  to  have  asked 
thee  a  question." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Hephzibah,"  returned  Miss  How 
ard,  "  that  we  are  about  to  go  over  the  same  ground 
again." 

"  Well,  I  have  in  no  wise  changed  my  opinion," 
continued  the  Quakeress,  "and,  as  thou  knowest,  I 
am  not  wont  to  change." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Howard,  smoothing  her  dress, — 
"  no ;  but  why  you  should  not  now  and  then,  for 
variety,  I  do  not  see." 

"  Because,"  said  Hephzibah,  sitting  very  erect  in 
her  chair,  and  speaking  with  so  expressionless  a  vis 
age  that  it  became  a  wonderful  thing  how  the  mouth 
had  lost  acquaintance  with  the  other  features  and 
ceased  to  receive  their  assistance, — "  because  I  am 
always  right." 

Miss  Howard  broke  into  the  most  merry  of  smiles. 
Her  face  was  as  wonderful  in  its  power  of  change  as 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  35 

was  Hephzibah's  in  its  frozen  stillness.  "  Oh,  Heph- 
zibah,  what  a  delightful  woman  you  are  !"  she  said. 
"  I  shall  think  of  you  all  day  for  this."  And  over  her 
mobile  face  flew  gleams  as  it  were  of  sarcastic  expres 
sion  and  little  storms  of  mirthful,  half-controlled 
laughter.  Then  she  paused  a  moment  as  she  crossed 
the  room,  and  turning  said,  "  But  if  you  are  always 
right,  Hephzibah  Guinness,  why  not  decide  the  ques 
tion  yourself  for  your  friend?  A  Quaker  pope  who 
is  infallible  should  not  ask  help  of  the  ungodly." 

Hephzibah  said,  quietly,  "  With  help  of  the  Spirit 
we  cannot  err,  but  I  am  not  always  sure.  I  do 
not  think  we  should  be  always  sure  that  we  have 
spiritual  guiding.  I  meant  that  we  are  right  when 
we  try  to  be  right.  There  is  the  right  of  holiness 
and  men's  right.  But  I  should  have  known  that  it 
was  not  well  to  carry  my  burden  to  one  whose 
feet  go  along  ways  of  ease  and  luxury,  and  have 
never  had  to  choose  which  of  two  thorny  ways  to 
tread." 

Hephzibah  looked  up  as  she  spoke,  and  was 
shocked  at  the  ghastliness  of  the  face  before  her, 
which  but  a  moment  ago  was  alive  with  mirth.  But 
the  soul  of  a  queen  lay  behind  it,  and  a  stern  effort 
of  will  put  down  the  unusual  revolt  in  the  woman's 
features.  The  doubts  which  arose  in  the  heart  of  the 
Quakeress  and  broke  into  speech  had  power  to  call 
up  for  the  other  woman  thoughts,  remembrances, 
and  difficult  decisions  which  rushed  upon  her  at  once 
like  an  army  of  remembered  evils,  but  were  mastered 
again  of  a  sudden,  almost  before  Hephzibah  had 
time  to  wonder. 


^6  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

Miss  Howard  wished  to  say  nothing  or  to  put  the 
thing  aside,  but  even  for  her  strong  will  Nature  was 
too  powerful,  and  leaning  across  a  chair-back,  which 
she  clutched  with  both  hands,  she  said,  "  The  past  is 
its  own.  Bury  it,  bury  it,  Hephzibah  Guinness,  and 
as  you  value  your  chance  to  enter  this  house,  never, 
never  again  speak  to  me  of  what  I  may  have  felt  or 
done  or  suffered.  It  is  a  liberty,  madam, — a  liberty 
which  I  allow  to  no  one." 

"  But  thou  knowest "  broke  in  Hephzibah. 

"  Enough !"  returned  Miss  Howard,  relieved  and 
steadied  by  her  passion  of  words,  as  emotion  is  al 
ways  relieved  by  its  outward  expression.  "  Let  us 
say  no  more  of  it.  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself,  I 
dare  say,  and  you  must  only  remember  what  I  meant, 
and  not  how  I  said  it.  For  that  I  am  sorry,  because 
— well,  because  this  is  my  own  house.  I  will  call 
Marguerite,"  but  as  she  turned  the  girl  she  sought 
came  dancing  into  the  room,  and  at  first,  not  seeing 
Hephzibah,  who  was  hidden  by  her  aunt's  form, 
caught  up  her  gown  and  with  infinite  demureness 
and  grace  made  a  low,  sweeping  courtesy,  exclaiming, 
"  You  see  I  have  not  forgotten  it,  Aunt  Bess  ?  Isn't 
that  the  way  they  do  it  in  the  minuet  ?  So, — not  too 
fast Oh !"  And  she  caught  sight  of  Heph 
zibah,  whom  she  both  disliked  and  feared,  and  at 
once  became  erect  and  quiet. 

The  Quakeress  looked  at  her  sternly,  while  Miss 
Howard,  passing  the  girl,  said,  "  I  leave  you  with 
Marguerite,  Hephzibah  :  I  shall  come  back  in  a  few 
minutes." 

As  she  went  by  her  niece  the  girl  plucked  at  her 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


37 


dress  furtively,  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "  Thee  will  not 
go,  Aunt  Bess  ?" 

"  Chut,  child  !"  murmured  her  aunt,  bending  down 
to  kiss  her,  "  she  will  not  eat  you  ;  and  if  she  did, 
you  would  surely  disagree  with  her." 

As  Miss  Howard  left  the  room  she  reflected.  "  If 
I  stay  I  shall  only  quarrel  again  with  that  woman. 
Better  to  go.  Poor  Marguerite  !" 

Meanwhile,  the  child  stood  in  front  of  Hephzibah, 
a  figure  of  guilty  terror  :  children  in  those  days  stood 
before  their  elders  until  invited  to  sit  down.  Heph 
zibah  was  somewhat  near-sighted,  and  this  Marguerite 
knew.  "  Wouldst  thou  kindly  excuse  me  a  moment  ?" 
she  said  :  "  I  will  soon  be  back  again." 

"  Come  here,"  replied  Hephzibah,  curtly,  "  and  sit 
down." 

Marguerite  was  holding  behind  her,  in  vain  hope 
to  hide  it,  a  long  skirt  of  gorgeous  brocade  which 
she  had  borrowed  from  her  aunt's  wardrobe  for  her 
little  bit  of  masquerade.  As  she  sat  down  Hephzibah 
caught  sight  of  the  unlucky  gown.  "And  shall  this 
child,  after  all,  go  from  us?"  she  said.  Then,  turn 
ing  to  the  culprit,  she  went  on,  not  unkindly :  "  A 
concern  hath  been  borne  in  upon  my  mind,  child, 
that  thou  shouldst  be  preserved  in  the  meek  life  of 
truth.  There  are  those  who  esteem  lightly  our  testi 
mony  to  plainness  in  attire.  What  is  this  that  I  see  ?" 
And  she  took  up  the  edge  of  the  broidered  dress. 
"  Why  dost  thou  so  offend  against  the  discipline  ?" 

Marguerite  had  much  of  her  aunt's  force  of  char 
acter,  and  by  this  time  had  recovered  her  composure. 
"  Is  it  wicked  ?"  she  said. 

4 


38  IIEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"  It  will  lead  thee  to  no  steadfast  haven,"  said 
Hephzibah,  "and  the  judgments  of  youth  are  vain 
judgments." 

"  But  is  it  wicked?"  she  persisted,  with  set  lips. 

"  It  is  not  for  thee  to  question  the  example  of  thy 
elders." 

"  Then  Aunt  Bess  is  wicked,"  said  Marguerite, 
sturdily. 

"  She  is  hedged  about  with  the  snares  of  the  world," 
said  Hephzibah,  sternly,  "  and  hath  counselled  thee 
unwisely." 

"  I  will  not  hear  her  so  spoken  of,"  answered 
Marguerite,  flushing  half  with  anger,  half  in  shame, 
at  this  her  first  open  outbreak.  "  She  is  the  best 
woman  God  ever  made :  I  wish  I  were  like  her." 

Hephzibah  disregarded  the  answer :  "  Dost  thou 
read  the  Word  ?  What  portion  art  thou  now  read 
ing?" 

"  Revelations,"  said  the  girl,  shyly. 

"  And  what  hast  thou  gathered  of  good  from 
them  ?"  returned  Hephzibah. 

The  child's  face  lit  up  :  "  I  was  made  to  think " 

and  she  paused,  not  having  meant  to  speak  out  her 
thoughts. 

"  Nay,  child,"  said  Hephzibah,  "  say  thy  speech  out : 
I  may  come  to  understand  thee  better." 

"  I — I  thought  what  would  Penn  and  Fox  say 
when  they  saw  the  gold  pavements  and  the  crystal 
walls  and  the  color  and  beauty  of  the  Master's 
house?" 

"  Surely  the  Great  Enemy  hath  tempted  thee,"  said 
Hephzibah.  "  Go  to  thy  room  and  seek  to  be  more 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  39 

wisely  guided.  Nay,  wait,"  she  added  : "  thou  shouldst 
be  punished."  And  she  detained  her  by  the  wicked 
skirt  as  two  men  in  the  plainest  dress  of  Friends  en 
tered  the  room  and  looked  with  amazement  at  the 
child's  attire  and  her  filling  eyes.  "  Friends,  you  are 
come  in  good  season,"  said  Hephzibah,  addressing 
them. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak  there  had  arisen 
among  Friends  what  were  then  termed  "  great 
searchings  of  heart0  concerning  the  preservation 
of  discipline  in  the  matter  of  dress  and  furniture. 
Mirrors  were  taken  down;  brass  clocks  received  a 
coat  of  drab  paint ;  in  one  case  two  aged  Friends,  on 
paying  a  visit  to  a  rather  lax  member  of  the  Society, 
were  shocked  to  find  on  her  floor  the  rare  luxury 
of  a  dark  carpet  with  red  spots,  over  which  they 
stepped,  lifting  their  gowns  and  picking  their  way  in 
grim  reprobation.  This  is  said  to  have  so  much 
annoyed  their  hostess  that  when  they  left  she  bore 
her  testimony  by  carefully  inking  out  all  the  offend 
ing  spots  of  red. 

The  two  Friends  whose  entry  we  have  noted  were 
overseers  appointed  by  Meeting  to  examine  into  and 
correct  breaches  of  discipline,  and,  regarding  Mar 
guerite  as  in  a  specially  dangerous  state,  had  called 
to  remonstrate  with  her  aunt  concerning  some  points 
as  to  which  rumor  had  reached  them.  Although 
living  with  her  aunt,  she  was  known  to  be  really  the 
ward  of  Arthur  and  Hephzibah  Guinness,  and  to  be 
in  all  spiritual  matters  within  their  control. 

As  they  entered,  Miss  Howard,  returning,  met  them 
with  her  stateliest  courtesy.  "  I  received  a  letter  to- 


40  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

day,"  she  said,  "  about  my  niece :  what  is  there  we 
can  do  to  aid  you  ?" 

"  They  are  come  in  good  time,"  said  Hephzibah, 
pointing  to  the  poor  girl's  dress. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  little  woman  !"  returned  Elizabeth, 
taking  the  child  by  the  waist  and  holding  her  close 
to  her.  "This  was  but  a  child's  frolic.  I  beg  no 
more  be  said  of  it." 

"  It  is  of  no  great  moment,"  answered  the  older  of 
the  men,  "  but  we  shall  bid  her  to  consider  that  she 
transgress  not  in  future  as  to  plainness  of  dress,  and 
also  of  demeanor." 

Elizabeth  Howard  flushed  a  little,  but  made  no 
answer.  She  never  ceased  to  fear  that  the  child 
whom  she  so  tenderly  loved  would  be  taken  from 
her,  as  would  surely  have  been  the  case  had  Hephzi 
bah  been  able  to  convince  her  brother  that  this  was 
either  wise  or  right. 

"  What  further  can  I  do  ?"  said  Miss  Howard.  "  I 
shall  endeavor  hereafter  to  see  that  she  walks  more 
straitly  in  the  way  you  desire  her  to  go." 

"  It  is  all,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two.  "  We  thank 
thee,  friend  Elizabeth  Howard,  for  thy  courtesy  and 
temperateness,  and  will  be  going." 

But  Hephzibah  felt  moved  to  speak,  and  said,  has 
tily,  "  As  the  child's  guardian  I  would  think  it  well 
that  you  asked  leave  of  her  aunt  to  see  that  her 
chamber  conform  somewhat  more  than  it  now  doth 
to  the  plainness  of  Friends'  dwellings.  Because  she 
is  permitted  to  live  with  Elizabeth  Howard,  there  is 
the  more  reason  to  ask  that  the  child  depart  not  from 
the  teaching  and  simplicity  of  Friends." 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  4! 

"  I  do  not  permit  strangers  to  wander  through  my 
house,"  said  Miss  Howard.  "  This  has  gone  far 
enough.  My  temper  is  not  unnaturally  good,  and  I 
beg  that  it  be  not  tried  beyond  what  it  may  bear." 

"  What  is  this  ?"  said  Arthur  Guinness,  coming  at 
this  moment  into  the  parlor,  his  good-humored, 
handsome  face  lifted  by  his  tall  form  above  the 
group. 

"  A  star-chamber  inquiry,"  said  Miss  Howard,  with 
some  heat. 

Now  the  guardian  had  been  much  tried  of  late  by 
the  over-zealous,  who  thought  him  derelict  in  leav 
ing  his  ward  with  her  worldly  aunt,  and  he  wished  to 
appease  all  concerned  and  to  keep  the  peace. 

The  elder  overseer  explained  the  case,  to  the  inter 
nal  amusement  of  Arthur,  who  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
agree  with  Miss  Howard,  but  possibly  she  will  oblige 
me  by  allowing  thee  to  see  the  room  where  Margue 
rite  hath  her  lessons." 

Arthur  Guinness  had  much  weight  with  Miss 
Howard,  and  his  mixture  of  grave  sweetness  and 
strong  sense  of  duty,  coupled  with  a  keen  and  ready 
humor,  all  appealed  to  her  pleasantly.  "  Well,  yes," 
she  said :  "  that  is  really  the  child's  home  in  this 
house,  as  far  as  she  has  one  apart,  for  she  sleeps  in 
my  own  chamber.  Come,  and  you  shall  see  for 
yourselves,  and  what  you  do  not  like  shall  be 
amended." 

Upon  this  she  turned,  and,  followed  by  the  over 
seers,  Hephzibah,  and  Arthur,  led  them  up-stairs  into 
a  little  sitting-room.  It  was  so  plainly  furnished 
with  books  and  a  simple  table  and  chairs  that  she 


42  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

felt  herself  triumphantly  secure.  Unluckily,  between 
the  windows  hung  a  large  round  convex  mirror  sur 
mounted  by  a  gilded  eagle  and  adorned  after  the 
French  fashion  with  chains  and  elaborate  projecting 
scroll-work.  The  two  overseers  paused  before  it. 

"  Thou  wouldst  do  well,  friend  Arthur,  to  remove 
this  vain  temptation,"  said  the  younger. 

"  Friend  Howard  will  no  doubt  thus  oblige  us," 
said  Arthur,  with  a  gleam  of  amusement  in  his  face. 

"But,"  said  Miss  Howard,  "it  is  the  child's.  It 
belonged  to  her  father,  and  I  gave  it  to  her." 

"  If  it  be  thus,"  answered  the  older  Friend,  "  it 
were  seemly  that  we  dealt  with  it  as  many  Friends 
have  of  late  submitted  to  have  done  with  superfluous 
ornament." 

"As  you  will,"  said  Miss  Howard,  while  Margue 
rite  watched  the  group  in  profound  curiosity. 

Upon  this  the  Friend  produced  from  under  the  flap 
of  his  strait  coat  a  long  saw,  and  advanced  upon  the 
unfortunate  mirror. 

"What  will  he  do?"  said  the  child,  alarmed  for 
her  small  property. 

"  We  shall  but  remove  some  of  these  needless 
ornaments,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth  smiled.  "  Will  you  pardon  me  ?"  she 
said,  taking  the  saw  from  his  hand.  "  I  am  converted 
to  your  ways  of  thinking,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  handle  of  this  useful  tool  has  also  a  needless 
curving  of  vain  scroll-work  which  cannot  add  to  its 
usefulness.  I  shall  be  back  in  a  moment."  And  so 
saying  she  walked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the 
Friends  to  make  what  comments  they  pleased.  In 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  43 

a  few  moments  she  came  back,  saying,  "  Thou  seest 
I  have,  with  the  help  of  my  man  John  and  his  wood- 
saw,  despoiled  the  tool  of  its  vain  ornaments."  In 
fact,  she  had  had  the  handle  sawn  off. 

Arthur  Guinness  looked  at  the  useless  tool  and 
the  blank  faces  of  the  overseers  and  the  austere 
visage  of  his  sister. 

"  It  is  not  of  much  use,  friend  Elizabeth,  in  its 
present  state.  It  seems  to  me,"  added  the  overseer, 
"  we  have  in  this  matter  been  trifled  with.  The  child 
should,  we  think,  be  removed." 

Miss  Howard  broke  in.  "  Enough  of  this  !"  she 
said.  "  I  told  you  my  temper  was  short.  You  touch 
nothing  in  my  house,  come  what  may.  I  have  done 
my  best,  with  better  help  from  One  I  name  not  lightly, 
to  keep  this  child  in  wise  and  wholesome  ways.  I 
will  be  ruled  by  you  no  longer.  As  to  these  trifles, 
which  I  think  valueless  or  worse " 

"  Then  we  had  as  well  go,"  said  Hephzibah. 

"  You  have  spoken  the  first  words  of  wisdom  I 
have  heard  to-day,"  said  her  hostess.  And  so  with 
few  words  all  excepting  Guinness  departed,  appar 
ently,  save  Hephzibah,  without  the  least  show  of 
feeling  or  ill  temper. 

As  they  left  the  street-door  the  older  man  said, 
quietly,  "Thou  wilt  do  well  to  reflect;"  and  this  was 
all. 

"I  have  reflected,"  said  Miss  Howard.  "  Good- 
morning." 


44 


HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ARTHUR  GUINNESS  awaited  Miss  Howard's  return 
in  the  parlor,  walking  to  and  fro  under  the  half-dozen 
portraits  by  Copley  and  Stuart,  and  in  and  out,  as  a 
meditative  man  might  do,  among  the  nests  of  Chinese 
tea-poys,  the  carved  chairs,  and  India  cabinets.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  small  crimson  squares  of 
wall-paper,  then  just  introduced,  and  the  Quaker's 
foot  fell  noiselessly  on  the  rich  brown  and  yellow  and 
red  of  a  Turkey  carpet.  Arthur  looked  about  him 
at  the  gay  bits  of  china,  and  the  masses  of  sombre 
color  relieved  by  the  brasses  of  the  fire-dogs  and 
fender  and  the  flickering  glow  of  the  hickory  back 
log.  Somehow  it  came  to  him,  as  it  had  done  before, 
that  it  was  pleasant,  and  that  something  in  its  well- 
attuned  harmony  made  him  comfortable  and  soothed 
him  after  the  irritations  through  which  he  had  just 
passed.  He  was  of  a  speculative  turn  of  mind,  and 
was  reflecting  what  a  colorless  world  would  be  like, 
and  how  it  would  influence  men.  Then  he  paused 
to  wonder  what  had  become  of  Elizabeth,  little 
dreaming  that  for  the  past  five  minutes  she  had  been 
standing  in  the  entry  with  her  hand  on  the  door,  hes 
itating  as  she  rarely  hesitated.  At  last  she  steadied 
herself,  and  entered  the  room.  Her  decision  once 
made,  her  natural  sense  of  the  humor  of  the  scene 
she  had  gone  through  returned  with  full  force,  and 
as  she  came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  Arthur 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  45 

Guinness  she  was  laughing  with  the  keenest  relish 
of  the  elders'  defeat. 

"  That  was  a  rout,"  she  said. 

"  Some  victories  are  worse  than  defeats,"  returned 
Gumness. 

Miss  Howard's  face  fell.  "  You  will  never  give  up 
to  them  ?"  she  said.  "  You  will  never  take  her  from 
me  ?  Promise  me  you  will  not." 

"  Thou  art  safe  as  to  that,"  he  said ;  "  but  where 
fore  make  my  task  somewhat  harder  than  it  need  be? 
Thou  knowest  that  I  must  sympathize  with  my  own 
people.  It  would  have  been  easy  for  thee  to  yield 
in  a  matter  so  small." 

"  I  could  not,"  she  said  ;  "  and  if  I  know  that  you 
must  sympathize  with  the  folly  of  such  extremes,  I 
know  also  that  you  do  not  go  such  lengths  willingly; 
and  it  is  enough  for  me  to  feel  sure  that  you  will  not 
part  the  child  from  me." 

"  But  reflect  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  If  perchance 
I  were  to  die, — as  might  be, — where,  then,  wouldst 
thou  be  in  this  matter  ?  My  sister  would  not  hesitate 
a  moment." 

Elizabeth  looked  kindly  up  at  his  stalwart  strength 
and  smiled.  "  If  you  died  life  would  be  little  to  me," 
she  said. 

"  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  coloring  with  pleasure, 
"  thou  wouldst  still  have  duties,  and  most  of  all  to 
this  child." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should  care  then  for  anything. 
No,  I  do  not  mean  that :  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  do,  and  I  do  not.  When  years 
ago  thou  earnest  here  from  Carolina  to  meet  the  or- 


46  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

phan  of  thy  only  brother,  sent  from  France  to  join 
thee,  thou  foundest  me  and  my  sister,  whom  he  had 
formerly  known  here,  left  guardians  of  the  little  one 
under  thy  brother's  will.  He,  like  myself,  was  a 
Friend :  thou  hadst  left  us  to  take  the  creed  of  thy 
mother.  But  I  need  not  remind  thee  of  all  this 
afresh." 

"  No.  It  is  still  a  wonder  to  me,"  she  said.  "  It 
has  been  one  long  struggle  to  do  right  in  the  face 
of  endless  embarrassments.  I  may  have  failed " 

"  Thou  hast  never  failed  to  do  what  seemed  to 
thee  right,"  he  returned,  "  and  wilt  not  ever  fail.  But 
through  all  these  long  years  I  have  loved  thee  as  men 
rarely  love.  Nay,  thou  wilt  not  hinder  me :  let  me 
speak.  I  love  thee  still.  Time  went  on,  and  I  came 
to  know  that  while  thou  didst  also  love  me " 

"  I  never  said  so,"  she  cried. 

"  But  thou  dost,  thou  dost,  Elizabeth  !  Thou  wilt 
not  say  it,  but  thou  wilt  not  say  it  is  not  so." 

She  was  silent,  and  the  dark  look  of  sombre  sad 
ness  grew,  as  it  often  did,  upon  her  face,  so  that  it 
seemed  strange  that  such  a  face  could  ever  smile. 

"  Thou  art  silent,"  he  said.  "  Year  after  year  I 
have  asked  thee  to  say  what  barrier  stands  between 
us." 

"But  you  could  not:  you  are  a  Friend.  It  is  for 
bidden  to  you  to  choose  where  you  will." 

A  great  passion,  half  restrained  for  years,  broke 
loose  and  took  fierce  possession  of  him.  "  I  have 
taken  wiser  counsel  than  thine  or  mine,"  he  said. 
"  No  man's  will  or  wish  should  come  between  us. 
Speak,  Elizabeth !  Are  they  of  Divine  setting,  the 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


47 


bounds  thou  wilt  not  break  ?  Is  it  a  sin  to  love  me  ? 
Nay,  that  cannot  be,  for  thou  dost  love  me.  Oh,  my 
darling,  speak  to  me !  Who  will  more  honestly 
counsel  thee  than  I  ?  who  will  more  surely  set  him 
self  aside  to  hear  and  help  thee  ?" 

Miss  Howard  dropped  into  a  chair  and  burst  into 
tears,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  .and  shaken 
to  the  heart's  core  by  the  awful  earnestness  of  the 
man  and  the  terror  of  indecision  which  stole  upon 
her  lonely  life. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  speak  ?"  he  said. 

"  Nay,  wait,"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  have  waited  long,"  he  answered. 

Then  she  lifted  her  head  and  saw  the  desolation  of 
anxiety,  of  grief  and  pity  in  the  brave  face  she  had 
learned  to  love  so  well.  "  I  cannot  bear  this,"  she 
went  on.  "  I  will  speak  though  I  die." 

"  But  I  cannot  so  hurt  thee,"  he  returned. 

"  No,  I  must  speak  now,  for  now  as  well  as  any 
day  it  may  be  told.  Listen,  and  listen  well,  for  never 
again  shall  I  speak  to  you  of  this.  It  is  my  life  I 
must  tell  you, — my  life." 

Then  the  two  were  still  a  moment  while  she  reso 
lutely  regained  the  mastery  over  herself. 

"  I  could  tell  you  a  long  story,"  she  said  :  "  I  will 
tell  you  a  short  one.  I  can  tell  it  in  one  brief  death 
bed  scene, — my  father's.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  We 
were  within  hearing  of  the  guns  at  the  siege  of 
Charleston,  and  my  father  was  dying,  and  my  mother 
away,  and  I  was  a  lonely  child ;  and  I  can  see  the 
room  and  the  curtained  bed,  and  the  negroes  about 
the  door,  and  I  only  near, — I  only  of  all  who  loved 


48  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

him.  Then  I  recall  the  old  black  nurse  saying, 
4  Honey,  de  massa  want  you ;'  and  I  was  pushed 
forward  to  the  bed.  And  I  remember  the  curtained 
gloom,  and  the  thin  and  wasted  face  within.  And 
then  I  remember  this,  my  father  saying,  '  Step  back, 
aunty,' — you  know  how  we  call  old  negresses  aunty, 
— '  I  want  to  talk  to  the  child,  and  my  time  grows 
short.' 

"  After  this  I  saw  his  great  gray  eyes  looking  sus 
piciously  about  until  he  made  sure  no  one  was  near 
to  hear ;  and  when  he  was  sure  he  said,  '  Save  thy 
brother,  my  child,  there  is  no  one  but  thee  alive  of 
all  my  race ;  and  if  I  could  see  thy  mother  now,  I 
would  spare  thee  this,  but  I  cannot.  Therefore,  thou 
who  art  a  child  must  be  as  a  grown  woman,  and  re 
member  what  I  tell  thee,  and  speak  of  it  to  none 
unless  thou  must.  I  want  thee  to  promise  me  that 
thou  wilt  never  marry,  because,  my  child,  thou  comest 
of  an  unhappy  race.  But  when  thou  art  older  thou 
wilt  look  in  a  book  which  is  in  my  desk,  and  which 
thy  mother  will  give  thee,  and  then  thou  wilt  see 
what  I  mean,  and  thou  wilt  know  why  I  say  all  this. 
And  now  I  may  not  speak  to  thee  longer;  and  I 
want  thee  to  say  only  this,  that  thou  wilt  look  in  the 
book,  and  if  I  seem  to  thee  to  be  right  and  just,  thou 
wilt  do  as  I  say.'  Then  he  spoke  no  more  for  a 
moment,  until  at  last  he  said,  '  Kiss  me ;'  and  after 
this  my  old  black  nurse  lifted  me  up  on  to  the  high 
bed,  and  I  kissed  him  and  wondered  why  his  breath 
was  cold  and  why  he  did  not  take  me  in  his  arms ; 
and  then,  although  I  cried,  they  took  me  away.  This 
is  all.  And will  you  wait  a  moment?" 


HEPHZI$AH   GUINNESS.  49 

Saying  this,  she  rose  and  walked  steadily  out  of 
the  room,  while  Arthur  Guinness  sat  with  arms 
crossed  on  his  breast,  awaiting  her  return.  In  a  few 
moments  she  came  back,  and  with  a  face  like  that 
of  a  judge  delivering  sentence  of  death  she  came 
towards  Arthur,  who  rose  to  meet  her,  and  said,  "  My 
friend,  this  is  it :  read  it,  and  you  will  think  with  me. 
Read  it,  and  you  will  never  more  ask  me  to  marry. 
And  now  that  it  is  done,  how  much  easier  it  seems 
than  I  thought  it !  Perhaps,  Arthur,  because  the 
burden  is  shifted  on  to  other  shoulders." 

Arthur  smiled  :  "  When  dost  thou  want  this  book 
again  ?  May  I  look  at  it  now  ?" 

"No,  no,  not  now,"  she  replied,  shuddering.  "You 
must  read  it  away  from  here.  I — I — do  not  want  to 
see  your  face  when  you  read  it." 

"  Well,  well,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  cheerily,  "  I  shall 
do  as  thou  sayest;  but  it  must  be  bad,  indeed,  to  be 
as  awful  as  thou  seemest  to  think  it." 

"  It  is  awful,"  she  answered.  "  When  you  have 
done  with  it,  leave  it  here  for  me  if  I  am  out, — in  the 
drawer  of  this  table.  Good-by,  Arthur." 

"Farewell,  Elizabeth." 

As  he  left  the  house,  Arthur  Guinness  looked 
curiously  a  moment  at  the  faded  little  memorandum- 
book  tied  about  with  ribbon,  and  putting  it  in  his 
breast-pocket  went  away  down  Front  Street  to  his 
own  home.  Seeking  his  study  in  the  back  building, 
he  laid  the  book  on  his  table,  and  leisurely  filling 
and  lighting  a  pipe,  let  the  bowl  rest  on  his  knee 
and  thought  a  moment.  He  was  more  shaken  and 
troubled  than  he  cared  to  admit,  even  to  himself,  and 
c  d  5 


£0  HEPHZ1BAH  GUINNESS. 

was  calmly  waiting  until  he  should  feel  himself  once 
more  fully  master  of  his  own  emotions.  Then  he 
opened  the  book,  and  this  was  what  he  found : 

"  MY    DEAR     AND     ONLY     DAUGHTER,    ELIZABETH, 

Save  thy  brother,  thou  art  the  last  of  a  race  which 
has  known  so  much  more  of  sorrow  than  of  joy 
that  I  beg  of  thee  solemnly  to  consider  what  I  have 
here  written,  that  if  it  seem  good  to  thee  thou 
mayest  come  to  see  the  matter  as  I  see  it,  and  to 
fulfil  my  wish,  so  that  by  never  marrying  our  family 
misery  may  fall  upon  no  others,  and  may  end  with 
us.  HENRY  HOWARD. 

"MARCH  10,  1777." 

Then  came  a  number  of  entries : 

"  Richard  Howard,  Bart,  of  the  Larches,  Denbigh 
shire,  died  Sept.  3,  1699,  by  his  own  hand. 

"Of  his  brothers,  John  and  Nicholas  likewise  thus 
perished. 

"  Margaret  Wortley,  aet  30,  daughter  of  Rd.  How 
ard,  Bart,  died  insane. 

"  The  grandsons  of  Rd.  Howard,  Bart,  were  thy 
uncles;  and  of  them  none  are  left,  they  dying  mostly 
of  self-murder  in  like  manner,  but  happily  in  foreign 
parts,  so  that  the  way  of  it  is  not  known  at  home. 

"  And  now  are  left  only  thou  and  thy  brother,  who, 
thinking  on  this  matter  with  me,  will  die  without 
issue. 

"  And  so  may  we  all  find  peace !" 

Arthur  Guinness  let  his  pipe  fall  on  the  floor,  and 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  ^ 

turning  to  the  table  sat  motionless,  his  chin  on  his 
hands,  staring,  as  it  were,  with  sad  eyes  into  the 
future.  He  saw  dim,  changeful  pictures  of  pros 
perous  days  to  come,  of  a  happy  wife,  of  sons  and 
daughters  about  his  knees.  Then  he  saw  them  grown 
up,  and  shuddering  rose  and  walked  to  and  fro  in 
the  room,  until  at  last,  feeling  some  fierce  craving 
for  larger  movement,  he  took  his  hat  and  leaving 
the  house  strode  hurriedly  away  towards  the  Schuyl- 
kill.  To  the  day  of  his  death  he  never  forgot  those 
hours  of  dumb  agony.  But  long  before  night  fell 
the  strong  habits  of  duty  and  faithful  allegiance  to 
common  sense  had  brought  him  to  the  same  de 
cision  which  had  guided  and  darkened  the  life  of 
Elizabeth. 

His  walk  took  him  along  the  willowy  margin  of 
the  river,  and  at  last  across  the  floating  bridge  at 
Gray's  Ferry,  and  so  up  to  the  high  ground  which 
lay  back  of  Woodlands.  At  first  there  was  in  all 
his  heart  a  sea  of  tameless  passion,  pent  up  for  years,  "* 
and  only  set  free  a  moment,  to  be  ordered  at  the  '\ 
next  into  quiet  by  a  voice  to  him  as  potent  as  that 
which  stilled  the  raging  waters  of  Galilee.  Then 
came  for  a  while,  or  at  intervals,  that  strange  sense 
of  being  morally  numbed  which  is  like  the  loss  of 
feeling  mercifully  bestowed  on  the  physical  system 
by  the  blow  of  the  lion's  paw.  At  last,  out  of  the 
confusion  order  began  to  come,  a~rid  painful  capacity 
to  study  in  detail  his  own  sensations,  and  to  look, 
though  but  unsteadily,  at  the  need  for  decision. 
Then  also  he  began  to  take  note  of  outside  things, 
and  to  see  with  curious  intensity  natural  objects, 


ij2  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

from  memories  of  which  would  come  forth  in  after- 
days  all  the  large  horror  of  the  sorrow  to  which 
they  had  become  linked  by  Nature's  mysterious 
bonds^"6T  association^  75^ us  he  noted,  whether  he 
would  or'  not/the  miserly  little  squirrels,  and  the 
rustling  autumn  woods  thick  with  leafy  funerals, 
through  which  the  lated  robin  flew  in  haste. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  at  length,  when  he  got  back 
his  power  to  reason  and  to  be  guided  by  the  laws 
of  action  which  long  habit  had  made  strong,  there 
stayed  with  him,  above  all,  a  sense  of  pity  for  Eliza 
beth  so  vast  and  intense  that  to  feel  it  was  simply 
pain,  and  yet  pain  which  ennobled  and  made  strong. 
He  felt  that  were  she  herself  willing  he  could  not 
now  marry  her;  and  out  of  a  strange  sense  of  duty 
to  children  yet  unborn,  and  never  to  live,  came  at 
last  peace  and  calm  decision.  Then  he  felt  that  he 
must  see  Elizabeth  at  once,  and  let  her  know  how 
just  he  held  her  judgment  to  be. 

In  his  trouble  the  hours  had  fled,  and  it  was  in  the 
late  afternoon  that  he  reached  his  home. 

Hephzibah  met  him  in  the  entry.  "  Where  hast 
thou  been  ?"  she  said,  looking  in  alarm  and  amaze 
ment  at  his  mud-stained  shoes  and  pale  face.  "Thou 
hast  forgotten  thy  dinner,  and  the  French  minister 
has  been  here  with  whom  thou  wast  going  to  Eliza 
beth  Howard's." 

"  No  matter,"  he  replied,  passing  her.  "  I  do  not 
wish  for  dinner:  I  am  going  out  again  when  I  have 
changed  my  shoes." 

"Thou  hast  had  some  worry,"  said  Hephzibah.  "I 
do  think  it  concerns  that  worldly  woman." 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  53 

"  Peace !"  he  returned :  "  thou  knowest  not  what 
thou  sayest.  Nay,  ask  me  nothing.  If  I  have  a 
sorrow,  it  is  for  no  human  ear." 

"  Hast  thou  asked  her  in  marriage  ?"  persisted 
Hephzibah,  with  a  deep  sense  of  gladness,  "  and  has 
she  refused  thee  ?" 

"  I  said  peace,"  he  returned.  "The  matter  concerns 
thee  not;  and  speak  no  ill  of  her,  as  thou  lovest  me." 

"  If  it  be  as  I  say,  thou  hast  been  wisely  dealt 
with,  Arthur  Guinness,"  she  replied.  A  sense  of 
triumph  rang  out  in  her  tones  despite  herself,  for 
this  marriage  was  of  all  things  that  which  she  feared 
the  most. 

But  Arthur  went  away  up-stairs  as  she  spoke,  say 
ing  bitterly,  "Ah,  Hephzibah,  in  the  field  of  the 
Master  thou  hast  gleaned  only  thistles,  and  thy 
tongue  is  as  the  tongue  of  Job's  friends.  Never 
again  speak  in  this  wise  to  me.  I  am  hurt  and 
sore  :  let  me  alone." 

An  hour  later  Arthur  Guinness  walked  quietly 
into  the  parlor  of  Miss  Howard  and  awaited  her 
coming.  Presently  she  came  into  the  room  smiling, 
and  took  him  by  both  hands,  and  said,  "  Sit  down. 
I  kept  you  waiting,  as  I  was  dressing,  because  I  am 
going  to  a  party  to-night.  And  how  thou  must  dis 
approve  of  my  splendor !"  And  she  made  him  a  sweep 
ing  courtesy,  and  settling  the  folds  of  her  heavy  silk 
dress,  sat  down  by  the  fire. 

He  looked  up  in  wonder  at  her  pleasant  face. 
"  How  canst  thou  smile?"  he  said. 

"  How  can  I  ?"  she  said.  "Some  people  are  good, 
and  their  goodness  helps  them  over  the  rough  places; 

5* 


54  HEP  HZ  I  BAH  GUINNESS. 

and  some  have  common  sense,  and  that  gets  them 
through :  now,  I  am  not  very  good,  and  not  very 
sensible,  but  I  must  have  had  a  fairy  godmother 
called  Mirth,  and  when  things  are  blackest  I  am  per 
versely  moved  to  smile ;  and  that  does  so  iron  out 
the  wrinkles." 

"  Oh,  my  darling !"  he  said. 

" Please  don't,  or  I  shall  cry,"  exclaimed  Elizabeth: 
V"  I  am  often  near  it  when  I  smile.  You  men  never 
know  how  close  they  are  together,  laughter  and  tears. 
There  !  let  us  talk  sensibly." 

"  I  have  put  thy  book  in  the  drawer,"  he  said ; 
"  and  it  is  all  over,  and  thou  art  right, — utterly,  en 
tirely  right, — and — and — I  shall  never  trouble  thee 
more.  Farewell !" 

"Good-by?"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  his  quiv 
ering  mouth.  "  Not  at  all.  Stay  a  little,  just  a  little. 
I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me, — you  always  do, — 
because,  as  Hephzibah  wisely  remarks  of  herself,  I 
am  always  right.  It  won't  hurt  you  to  know  that  I 
feel  how  much  of  sweetness  went  out  of  life  when  I 
found  that  you  loved  me,  and  that  I  must  never  think 
to  sit  at  your  fireside  as  a  wife.  But  it  was  a  de 
cision  of  years  ago,  and  I  made  it  and  unmade  it. 
Yes,  I  did,  for  I  am  weak  when  you  are  by.  But  at 
last  we  have  both  made  it,  and  I  thought  I  should 
want  to  die  as  I  told  you ;  but  I  do  not, — not  while 
you  live,  and  not  while, — now  don't  look  so  sad, — 
not  while  there  is  anything  on  earth  as  amusing  as 
the  overseers  and  Hephzibah." 

"  What  a  droll  woman  thou  art,  my  Elizabeth !" 
he  said. 


HEPHZIBAH   GUINNESS.  55 

"  Only  a  natural  woman,"  she  replied.  "  Do  you 
regret  what  we  have  done  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  firmly.  "  I  do  regret  the  thing,  not 
the  decision  upon  it.  I  have  only  to  look  at  the 
other  side  to  be  able  to  smile  a  little  with  thee." 

"Then  it  is  over,"  she  said,  "and  we  will  get 
what  we  can  out  of  life,  with  good  help,  Arthur,  and 
set  aside  the  past.  Shall  it  be  so  ?" 

"  It  shall  be  as  thou  hast  said,"  he  returned.  "  And 
what  else  is  it,  Elizabeth  ?"  for  she  stood  up  before 
him  flushed  and  handsome. 

"  Only  once,"  she  said,  "  I  must  tell  you  how  I 
love  and  honor  and  reverence  you, — how  gladly  I 
would  have  trusted  my  life  to  you.  I  must  show 
you  once,  as  only  a  woman  can,  how  I  love  you." 
And  leaning  over  him  as  he  sat  she  kissed  him. 

Arthur  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  I  thank 
thee."  And  the  woman,  crimson  to  the  hair,  turned 
and  fled  from  the  room. 


HEPHZ1BAH  GUINNESS. 


CHAPTER    V. 

ON  the  next  morning  Miss  Howard  received  a 
note  from  Arthur,  in  which  he  said  in  a  few  words 
that  he  was  going  away  for  a  fortnight,  thinking  it 
well  that  he  should  not  see  her  face  for  a  time.  He 
went  on  to  explain  that  it  was  not  unlikely,  owing  to 
some  commercial  affairs,  that  he  should  before  long 
have  to  go  to  Europe;  and  he  added  that  he  had 
meant  to  bring  the  abbe  to  see  her,  as  he  seemed  a 
proper  person  to  give  to  her  niece  the  French  lessons 
she  wished  her  to  take,  but  that  the  gentleman  would 
call  upon  her  at  once. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  the  Abbe  de 
Vismes  walked  slowly  down  Front  Street,  saluting 
as  he  passed  them  three  or  four  of  the  French  nobles 
who  had  drifted  into  this  quiet  haven  out  of  the 
storms  of  European  warfare.  The  abbe,  to  whom 
all  lands  were  alike,  provided  the  wines  were  good 
and  the  fare  agreeable,  had  begun  to  make  himself 
characteristically  at  home  in  the  tranquil  old  town. 
As  he  passed  Walnut  Street  he  lifted  his  hat  to  the 
Marquis  de  Talons,  and  the  pair  exchanged  pinches 
of  snuff  and  walked  on  together  among  the  groups 
of  homeward-bound  artisans  and  merchants. 

"  I  am  giving  lessons  in  the  dance,"  said  the  mar 
quis,  "  but  the  times  grow  better,  and  before  long  we 
shall  drink  our  Bordeaux  again  at  home.  What  is 


HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS.  57 

it  that  you  do  to  put  the  bread  in  your  mouth, 
abbe  ?" 

"  The  trade  which  is  best,"  said  the  abbe,  "  is  to 
turn  Quakre,  but  I  am  grown  too  old  to  change; 
and,  moreover,  they  drink  not  the  wine  of  Madeira, 
which  I  find  to  be  comforting  and  not  dear." 

"  Thou  hast  reason,"  said  the  marquis,  "  but  thy 
trade  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  returned  the  abbe,  "  my  trade  !  That  re 
minds  me,  and  the  place  is  here.  I  go  to  teach  a 
young  demoiselle  the  tongue  of  France." 

"  And  is  she  as  lovely  as  are  the  rest  ?"  returned 
the  marquis. 

"  Ah  !  I  know  not,"  said  the  abbe,  "  but  my  nephew, 
who  has  but  seen  her,  raves  of  her  as  the  young  will 
do;  and,  as  I  said,  this  is  the  place.  Au  revoir, 
marquis."  And  so  saying  he  went  into  the  little  gar 
den,  and  was  presently  chatting  with  Miss  Howard. 

The  parlor,  with  its  pretty  feminine  belongings 
and  pictures  and  china  and  well-rubbed  tables  and 
chairs,  took  the  abbe  by  surprise,  and  the  stately 
woman  who  greeted  him  with  a  courtesy  which  took 
up  half  the  room  no  less  delighted  him.  "  Ah  !"  he 
said, "  madame,  I  am  enchanted  to  be  again  in  a  room 
with  pictures  and  color,  and,  you  will  pardon  me, 
with  a  woman  who  would  have  done  honor  to  our 
court." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  Miss  Howard,  smiling. 
"  You  have  taken  a  leaf  out  of  the  book  of  your 
gallant  countryman,  De  Lauzun." 

"  But  madame  will  consider  that  I  have  lived  here 
only  among  the  doves  which  are  called  Quakres." 


58  HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS. 

"  Such  as  Miss  Hephzibah  Guinness,"  returned 
Miss  Howard.  "  Well !  well !  I  can  weigh  your 
pretty  speeches  now.  But  you  have  not  seen  my 
niece." 

"And  when  better  than  now?"  he  said;  upon 
which  the  pupil  was  promptly  summoned. 

"  This,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  is  my  niece,  Miss  How 
ard.  And  this,  Marguerite,  is  the  gentleman,  the 
Abbe  de  Vismes,  who  will  do  you  the  honor  to  teach 
you  French." 

"  She  does  not  yet  speak  that  tongue  ?"  he  said. 

"  No,"  replied  Miss  Howard. 

"  Then  I  may  say,  madame,  comme  elle  est  gracieuse, 
cette  filler 

The  girl  laughed.  "Ah,  sir,  though  I  do  not 
know  French,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  said  some 
thing  pleasant  of  me.  It  was  thee,  Aunt  Bess,  who 
said  that  a  woman  would  understand  a  man  if  he 
said  pretty  things  of  her  in  Hebrew." 

"  And  to  be  spiritueUe  seems  to  be  of  the  family," 
said  the  abbe.  "  But  you  said  her  name  was  Mar 
guerite,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Howard,  "her  mother's  name. 
Her  mother  was  French." 

"Ah  !  and  of  what  family  ?"  inquired  the  abbe. 
^      "  We    never   knew  her,"    said  Elizabeth,  briefly : 
"  she  died  in  France.     Shall  our  lessons  begin  to 
morrow  ?" 

And  after  more  chat  and  many  compliments  it 
was  so  agreed,  and  the  abbe  went  away,  doubly 
happy  that  he  had  a  pupil  and  that  she  was  beautiful 
to  look  upon. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


59 


The  cool  October  days  came  and  went,  and  the 
colder  November  mornings  stripped  off  the  last 
mournful  leaves,  while  the  French  emigres  settled 
down  to  their  work, — the  abbe  to  his  lessons,  which 
began  to  be  sufficient,  the  young  baron  to  his  novel 
labor  in  the  Quaker  merchant's  counting-house.  By 
degrees  the  exiled  youth  grew  to  like  the  quiet  town 
with  its  splendid  breadth  of  river  boundaries,  and  to 
find  friends  among  the  rich  and  refined  families  to 
whom  his  name,  and  still  more  his  frank  and  easy 
manners,  gave  him  ready  access.  But  above  all 
other  pleasures  were  the  morning  and  evening  walks 
to  and  from  his  place  of  business,  for  these  led  him 
past  the  garden  and  the  buttonwoods,  and  the  only 
house  which  was  not  open  to  him.  Daily  he  lingered 
there,  sometimes  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  blooming 
face  he  had  learned  to  like  so  well,  and  sometimes 
seeing  only  the  place  which  had  come  to  be  so 
pleasant  for  him. 

By  degrees,  Marguerite  in  turn  began  to  notice 
the  handsome  stranger  who  lingered  as  he  went  by, 
and  looked  happy  when  he  caught  her  eye  as  she 
glanced  up  from  her  autumn  garden-work  of  trim 
ming  the  rose-bushes  and  preparing  her  plants  for 
the  winter.  On  this  young  and  guileless  heart  no 
strong  impressions  had  yet  been  made^and  perhaps 
the  very  means  which  her  aunt  so  sedulously  em 
ployed  to  keep  her  free  from  all  companionship  with 
tfieTolher  sex  had  but  prepared  her  to  feel  deeply  the 
first  homage  which  a  man  should  lay  at  her  feet. 

At  length  one  morning  she  looked  up  from  her 
book  and  said,  quietly,  "Aunt  Bess,  why  dost  thou 


6O  HEPHZIBAII  GUINNESS. 

not  ask  the  abbe  to  bring  the  poor  young  man  who 
is  his  nephew  to  see  us  ?  I  see  him  go  by  here 
almost  every  day,  and  I  think  he  would  like  to  come 
in.  I  would  if  I  were  he." 

Miss  Howard  turned  towards  her  with  a  startled 
look.  "  Why,"  said  she,  "  do  you  concern  yourself 
with  the  young  man  ?  I  dare  say  he  has  friends 
enough." 

"  But,  aunt,  he  looks  as  if  he  would  be  nice  to 
talk  to,  and  he  must  have  seen  many  things  I  should 
like  to  hear.  And  besides,  aunt,  why  do  no  young 
men  come  here,  and  only  Mr.  Guinness  and  Heph- 
zibah  and — and — old  people  ?" 

"  You  will  know  some  day,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Other 
young  women  may  have  friends  who  are  young  men, 
but  you  cannot,  and  you  must  not  ask  me  why  until 
the  day  comes  that  I  may  tell  you  why.  Now  you 
must  trust  me  that  what  I  ask  is  wise  and  right.  Go 
back  to  your  book  again,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Bess,"  she  replied ;  and  the  truant 
locks  fell  over  the  volume,  but  their  owner's  thoughts 
strayed  afar  and  made  little  castles  for  her  in  the 
land  of  Spain,  such  as  young  hearts  are  wont  to 
build. 

The  morning  after  was  cold  and  clear,  and,  early 
afoot,  Marguerite  was  busy  at  her  last  tasks  in  the 
little  garden,  sweeping  the  leaves  into  corners  and 
trimming  the  box  borders.  Presently,  as  she  stood 
by  the  fence  and  threw  over  some  dead  branches, 
she  was  aware  of  a  blush  that  told  of  her  conscious 
ness  of  the  close  neighborhood  of  the  young  baron. 
In  her  confusion  she  threw  over  with  the  lapful  of 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  6 1 

trimmed  stems  her  garden  scissors  and  one  of  her 
gloves. 

The  young  man  touched  his  hat  smilingly,  and 
gathering  up  the  articles  in  question  laid  one  hand 
on  the  fence  and  leapt  lightly  over  into  the  garden. 
"  Mademoiselle  will  pardon  me,"  he  said.  "  These 
are  her  scissors.  And  we  cannot  be  quite  altogether 
stranger  the  one  to  the  other." 

"  Oh,  but  you  should  not  come  in,"  cried  the  girl, 
naively :  "  my  aunt  will  not  like  it.  And  my  glove, 
too,  if  you  please." 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  said  the  baron.  "  When  it  is  that 
we  enter  the  land  of  faery  we  go  not  away  without  a 
souvenir.  Mademoiselle  will  two  times  pardon  me." 
And  so 'saying,  with  his  pleasant  face  glowing  with 
mischief  and  evident  admiration,  he  bowed  to  her, 
and  kissing  the  glove  thrust  it  in  his  bosom,  and 
again  leaping  the  fence,  lifted  his  hat  and  went  calmly 
away  down  Front  Street,  leaving  her  amused,  amazed, 
and  a  little  frightened.  Tjiejnj^yjth  quick  female  in 
stinct  she  glanced  a  moment  at  the  windows  and  cast 
a  furtive  look  after  the  lithe,  handsome  figure  which 
had  disturbed  her  maiden  heart. 

The  incident  was  a  great  one  in  her  quiet  life,  but 
she  said  nothing  of  it  to  her  aunt.  Why,  she  could 
hardly  have  told  herself,  for  in  all  things  she  was  as 
frank  as  one  could  have  wished  so  young  a  thing  to 
be.  Then  the  days  fled  by  anew  until  midwinter 
brought  an  event  which  was  destined  to  disturb  all 
concerned  in  this  story. 

According  as  he  had  said,  Arthur  Guinness  found, 
not  now  to  his  dislike,  that  affairs  of  moment  made 

6 


62  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

it  needful  that  he  should  go  to  Europe.  The  chance 
to  sail  at  once  offered  itself  while  he  was  absent  in 
New  York,  and  there  was  not  time  to  allow  of  the 
four  days'  journey  to  Philadelphia  and  back  again,  if 
he  would  not  lose  an  opportunity  which  might  not 
recur  for  a  month.  Not  sorry  to  put  a  little  time 
between  himself  and  Elizabeth,  he  seized  the  oppor 
tunity,  and  went  away  without  seeing  her  again. 
Then  a  letter  came,  and  another,  and  after  that  he  had 
found  his  way  to  the  Continent,  and  Miss  Howard 
heard  no  more. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MEANWHILE,  an  open  winter  of  frequent  sunshine 
ended  in  February  with  a  week  of  intensely  cold, 
clear,  vivid  days.  On  the  late  afternoon  of  one  of 
these  Hephzibah  Guinness  stood  in  her  front  parlor 
ready,  in  drab  cloak  and  woollen  stockings  drawn 
over  her  shoes,  to  face  the  out-door  cold.  As  she 
passed  out  into  the  entry,  the  knocker  of  the  street- 
door  sounded,  and  she  herself  opening  the  door  was 
aware  of  young  De  Vismes,  his  face  in  a  pleasant 
glow  with  the  keen  frostiness  of  the  winter  air. 

"  There  is,"  he  said,  "  madame,  a  packet  which 
arrives  from  France,  and  there  are  letters  which  I 
am  to  carry  to  you ;  and  behold  them.  It  makes 
evil  weather  to-day." 

Hephzibah  took  the  letters,  a  large  bundle,  but 
did  not  ask  the  young  man  to  enter.  She  had  an 


HEPHZIBAII  GUINNESS.  63 

odd  dislike  to  foreigners  and  a  half-confessed  belief 
that  they  could  all  speak  English  well  enough  if  they 
chose.  "  I  am  about  to  go  out,"  she  said,  4<  so  that 
I  may  not  ask  thee  in." 

"  I  wish  you  a  good-evening,"  he  returned,  and 
left  her. 

The  Quakeress  went  back  into  the  house  and 
hastily  tore  open  the  envelope.  There  was  a  long 
package  within  addressed  to  her.  This  also  she 
opened,  and  within  it  found  a  large  roll  of  folded 
pages,  yellow  and  stained  as  if  written  years  before. 
On  the  back  it  was  addressed  to  the  Abbe  Gaston 
de  Vismes. 

"At  last !"  she  said,  "  at  last !  Why  must  I  decide 
anew  ?  What  I  did  was  best  for  her.  Yes,  it  was 
best;  and  now  it  is  all  to  be  thought  over  again,  as 
if  once  in  a  life  were  not  enough  !"  Then  she  looked 
at  the  other  letters.  There  was  one,  a  heavy  one,  for 
Miss  Howard.  "  That  at  least  may  wait,"  said  Heph- 
zibah.  Lastly,  she  fell  upon  a  letter  to  herself  from 
her  brother.  This  she  eagerly  opened,  and  read  with 
a  haste  as  eager.  It  ran  in  this  wise : 

"  DEAR  HEPHZIBAH, — After  many  perils  and  grave 
occasions  by  sea  and  land,  I  have  prosperously  ended 
the  affairs  for  which  I  came  to  Europe.  Some  busi 
ness  of  a  brother-merchant  hath  led  me  to  the  town 
of  Nantes,  where  it  hath  been  my  fortune  to  be 
brought  into  relations  with  an  ancient  dealer,  who, 
on  hearing  my  name,  and  learning  whence  I  came, 
inquired  of  me  concerning  a  child  sent  to  Philadel 
phia  years  ago  on  the  death  of  its  father,  one  William 


64  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

Howard.  Thou  wilt  be  amazed  to  know  that  the 
child  is  our  ward,  Marguerite,  and  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  lady  of  the  class  of  nobles  called  De 
Vismes,  to  whom  William  Howard  was  married ; 
and,  what  is  yet  more  strange,  I  am  told  that  letters 
which  William  Howard  confided  to  this  merchant 
were  sent  over  to  my  care  by  the  packet  which  came 
after  the  one  which  fetched  our  ward.  These  may 
have  come  while  I  was  gone  to  Carolina  to  bring 
Elizabeth,  but  they  seem  to  have  been  lost,  although 
I  do  remember  me  plainly  of  the  coming  in  of  the 
packet,  which  was  the  George  Arnauld. 

"  I  send  thee  here  the  original  papers,  of  which 
those  lost  were  only  copies,  and  with  them  a  long 
and  curious  statement,  with  which  I  fear  thou  wilt 
not  be  well  pleased.  Thou  wilt  find  that  William 
speaks  especially  of  a  letter  of  instruction  and  of 
his  will,  which  latter  we  did  receive,  and  that  he 
desires  that  in  place  of  the  child  being  bred  in  the 
ways  of  our  Society,  as  he  was  at  first  minded 
and  wrote,  she  should  be  left  wholly  to  the  ward 
ship  of  our  good  friend  Elizabeth.  I  pray  thee 
at  once  to  read  the  strange  story  William  relates, 
and  also  his  final  letter,  and  then  to  give  them  to 
Elizabeth. 

"  Thou  wilt  learn  that  the  child  is  now  rich  in  this 
world's  goods.  I  shall  linger  but  long  enough  to 
secure  to  her  this  ample  estate,  and  to  place  it  in 
safety,  and  shall  then  return  with  all  the  haste  I  may 
to  our  own  land. 

"  Thy  always  loving  brother, 

"  ARTHUR." 


HEPHZ1BAH  GUINNESS.  65 

Hephzibah  set  her  lips  sternly,  and  turned  without 
a  word  to  the  longer  paper,  which  she  read  and  re 
read  eagerly.  It  ran  thus  : 

"GENEVA,  May  10,  1794. 

"To  MY  BELOVED  FRIEND,  ARTHUR  GUINNESS, 
Merchant, — Thou  knowest  that  after  the  child  Mar 
guerite  was  sent  to  thee,  I  did  also  despatch  to  thee 
my  will  and  a  certain  letter  in  which  I  desired  Heph 
zibah  and  thee  to  be  guardians  of  the  little  maid.  I 
did  also  provide  for  her  bringing  up  in  the  ways  of 
our  Society,  and  for  her  living  with  my  sister  Eliza 
beth.  But  having  been  afflicted  since  the  child  went 
away  to  thee  with  bitter  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  mortal 
illness,  I  am  come  to  think  that  I  shall  do  more  wisely 
to  leave  her  in  ward  of  my  sister,  Elizabeth  Howard, 
so  to  raise  her  as  may  seem  best  to  her,  she  being, 
although  not  of  our  Society,  a  woman  seriously 
minded,  despite  some  light  ways  of  speech  and  vain 
jesting. 

"  Having  thus  provided  by  a  letter  of  which  a  copy 
hath  been  sent  to  thee,  I  have  it  still  on  my  mind  to 
relate  to  thee  the  story  of  the  child's  parentage.  If 
it  had  pleased  Providence  that  I  should  have  lived 
to  care  for  her,  I  believe  I  shoulJ  still  have  let  her 
be  looked  upon  as  my  child  ;  Lut  as  it  now  seems 
unlike  that  I  shall  live  to  go  home,  I  esteem  it  best 
to  inform  thee  fully  as  to  the  fact  that  she  is  in  no 
manner  of  my  blood. 

"  Thou  knowest  that  while  I  dwelt  in  England  I 
felt  a  concern  as  to  them  that  were  afflicted  in  France. 
On  this  account  I  crossed  over  into  that  unhappy 
country,  and  journeyed  hither  and  thither  bearing 


66  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

testimony.  Twice  I  was  cast  into  bonds,  and  twice 
in  danger  of  my  life ;  but  because  of  my  being  an 
American  and  of  our  Society,  I  was  each  time  set  at 
ease,  and  now  of  late  have  been  left  to  do  as  I  am 
guided.  At  last  I  came  in  the  Eleventh  month, 
which  they  call  Frimaire,  to  the  city  of  Nantes,  on 
the  river  Loire,  where,  having  a  letter  to  one  Pierre 
Porlat,  some  time  a  preacher  of  the  Society  of  Prot 
estants,  he  did  kindly  receive  me  into  his  house.  A 
great  gloom  was  come  on  all  because  of  the  cruelty 
of  one  Carrier,  who  hath  put  many  to  sudden  death 
by  drowning  without  even  a  form  of  trial. 

"  We  comforted  each  the  other  with  cheerful  talk, 
and  at  last  he  confided  to  me  that  he  had  concealed  in 
a  vacant  house  next  to  his  a  young  woman,  a  widow, 
and  her  little  child,  the  husband,  a  Marquis  la  Roche, 
having  been  lately  put  to  death.  I  was  able  to  help 
these  poor  people  by  carrying  to  them  food,  especially 
at  night,  when  we  would  sit  in  the  darkness,  a  light 
being  imprudent,  and  talk  of  many  things,  and  of 
some  good  for  speech  and  reflection  to  such  as  are 
in  trouble.  The  young  woman  was  of  great  beauty 
of  person,  and  also  of  a  singular  calm  sweetness, 
such  as  greatly  moved  my  pity. 

"  At  last  on  the  evening  of  the  fifteenth  day  of  the 
Eleventh  month,  I  came  in  from  comforting  some  of 
the  many  who  were  in  despair,  and  found  Pierre 
Porlat  and  the  woman  La  Roche  set  about  by  a  guard 
of  fierce-looking  men.  The  poor  thing  had  her  little 
frightened  child  in  her  arms.  I  turned  and  followed 
them  towards  the  prison.  When  we  came  near  to 
the  place,  which  is  a  low  building  called  the  Entrepot, 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  67 

close  to  the  water,  we  met  eighty  or  more  men  and 
women  tied  in  pairs  and  being  driven  like  poor 
sheep — only  these  knew  their  fate — on  to  a  boat 
to  be  sunk  in  the  river.  When  they  were  counted 
the  man  Carrier  said  two  were  missing,  and  seeing 
the  woman  La  Roche  and  Pierre,  he  said,  '  Let  these 
be  added  to  make  the  count  correct/  and  threaten 
ing  them  with  his  sword,  pushed  them  towards  the 
river.  Then  the  poor  mother  in  her  agony  cried  to 
me  to  take  the  child,  and  I  went  near  her  to  do  so, 
much  moved,  as  thou  mayst  suppose.  Then  the  man 
Carrier  said,  '  Who  is  this?'  and  one  of  the  captains, 
named  Lamberty,  answered  that  I  was  a  Quakre,  as 
they  say,  and  an  American,  and  therefore  a  foe  to 
aristocrats  ;  upon  which  the  man  Carrier  laughed  and 
said,  '  What  carest  thou  for  the  citoyenne  ?  Is  she 
thy  mistress  ?'  Then  I  was  filled  with  shame  for  her, 
and  with  great  pity,  so  that  I  scarce  could  speak,  and 
— may  I  be  forgiven  ! — I  replied,  '  The  woman  is  my 
wife.'  Then  they  all  laughed  and  said,  '  Let  the 
Quakre  have  his  wife,  and  make  haste;'  and  on  this 
the  woman  and  her  child  were  set  free.  But  they 
bade  us  stay  and  see  the  poor  creatures  drowned 
which  were  left.  My  friend  Pierre  cried  out,  '  The 
good  God  guide  thee !'  And  after  this  I  thrust  the 
woman  behind  me,  that  she  might  not  see  this  misery, 
and  so  stood  in  prayer  while  this  great  cruelty  was 
suffered.  Then  I  took  her  arm,  and,  carrying  the 
child,  went  away  into  the  town,  fearfully  searching 
my  heart  to  see  if  the  thing  I  had  done  was  well. 

"  I  lay  awake  all  that  night,  and  the  next  day  I 
said  to  Edulienne, — which  was  her  name, — '  I  have 


68  HEP  HZ  IB  A II  GUINNESS. 

saved  thy  life  with  a  lie,  and  thou  art  yet  in  peril. 
What  I  have  done  sorely  troubles  me.'  Then  she 
answered  sweetly  that  I  was  a  true  gentleman,  and 
that  she  would  not  be  so  saved,  but  would  go  and 
give  herself  up.  But  I  answered  that  what  I  did  I 
was  moved  to  do,  and  that  now  the  only  true  thing 
to  do,  both  to  salve  my  own  conscience  and  to  save 
her  life,  was  to  make  her  really  my  wife.  On  this 
she  burst  into  tears,  and  could  talk  no  more,  but  next 
day  came  to  me  and  said  it  should  be  as  I  wished. 
And  so,  not  to  weary  thee,  we  were  married  secretly 
by  a  brother  of  poor  Porlat  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife  and  daughter,  all  in  tears. 

"  But  my  little  woman  scarce  spoke  afterwards, 
and  pined  away  and  died  before  spring,  like  one 
stricken, — perhaps  of  remembering  her  marquis;  and, 
after  all,  I  know  not  yet  if  that  I  did  were  well.  But 
coming  to  Bordeaux,  I  found  a  master  of  a  ship  I 
knew,  and  gave  him  charge  to  carry  the  little  one  to 
thee;  and  this  was  in  Fifth  month  of  the  year  1794. 

"  This  paper  will  be  left  in  charge  of  Eugene  Per- 
riere,  of  Nantes,  merchant,  who  will  see  that  it  reaches 
thee  in  case  of  my  death,  with  a  copy  of  my  instruc 
tions  to  my  sister  as  to  the  governing  of  the  child's 
life. 

"  Thy  true  friend, 

"  WILLIAM  HOWARD." 

When  Hephzibah  had  finished  she  rose,  and  folding 
the  papers,  went  up-stairs  to  her  brother's  room  and 
laid  them  in  his  desk,  which  she  shut.  "  Let  them 
rest  there,"  she  said,  "while  I  think  it  over.  Eliza- 


I1EPHZIBAH   GUINNESS. 


69 


beth  may  wait :  there  is  no  haste.  They  seem  to  have 
been  long  on  the  way,  and  he  may  follow  them  soon. 
There  seems  nothing  but  to  give  over  the  child  to 
the  world ;  and  I  can  see  the  face  of  that  proud 
woman  when  she  hears  it.  Must  all  my  years  of 
anxiousness  go  for  nothing?" 

After  this  she  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  as 
her  brother  had  done  when  a  blow  as  great,  but  far 
different,  had  fallen  upon  him.  Years  before,  in  a 
moment  of  too  exalted  trust  in  the  wisdom  of  her 
own  views  as  to  how  another's  life  should  be  ordered, 
she  had  destroyed  the  letter  in  which  William  How 
ard  had  wisely  stated  his  altered  opinions  as  to  the 
education  and  religious  training  of  the  girl  they  had 
all  believed  to  be  his  own.  There  are  in  every 
Church  those  who,  if  they  held  the  reins  of  authority, 
would  use  them  to  force  into  their  own  ways  of 
thinking  all  who  chance  to  differ  from  them  in  belief; 
and  of  this  peculiar  mould  was  Hephzibah  Guinness. 
Now  the  house  she  had  builded  with  some  fear  and 
anxiety,  but  with  no  great  doubt,  was  crumbling,  and, 
as  often  happens,  doubt  began  to  grow  as  the  prob 
ability  of  failure  arose  and  increased  ;  for  it  was  plain 
enough  to  her  that  the  one  conscience  she  dreaded 
outside  of  her  own — that  of  her  brother — would  be 
certain  not  to  sympathize  in  the  means  by  which  she 
had  secured,  as  she  believed,  the  eternal  safety  of 
Marguerite.  Night  fell  as  she  walked  to  and  fro 
in  the  mazes  of  terror,  doubt,  and  rudely-shaken 
convictions.  At  last,  with  a  shock,  came  to  her  the 
idea  that  perhaps  Arthur  had  written  also  directly  to 
Elizabeth  Howard;  and  at  once,  unable  to  bear  the 


70  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

suspense  through  one  night,  she  went  down-stairs 
and  out  of  the  house.  As  she  walked  along  the 
deserted  streets,  more  and  more  clearly  arose  before 
her  the  spectre  of  Arthur's  anger  and  reproach ;  but 
not  for  a  moment  was  it  plain  to  her  that  it  would  be 
righteous  anger  or  just  reproach.  Yet  it  would  be 
in  some  wise  a  falling  off  from  her  of  the  one  thing 
in  her  life  which  was  always  sweet  and  fresh,  and 
grew  with  a  wholesome  ripeness  as  years  went  on. 
Then,  too,  as  she  stood  in  the  little  garden,  search 
ing  herself  implacably  to  find  if  that  which  she  had 
done  was  well,  of  a  sudden  the  question  took  a  new 
form,  and  pausing  she  asked  herself  if  Arthur  had 
himself  done  this  thing,  how  it  would  have  seemed 
to  her  sitting  in  judgment.  Somehow,  she  could 
not  carry  out  this  idea.  She  stood  in  the  night  air, 
and  tried  to  make  for  herself  a  picture,  as  it  were, 
of  Arthur  burning  the  letter;  but  the  figure  she 
summoned  up  seemed  to  face  her  pale-visaged  and 
grave,  and  would  not  act  its  part  in  the  drama.  With 
this  a  strange  anger  came  over  her,  as  if  at  the  dear 
friend  who  was  fated  not  to  understand  her ;  and  then 
at  last,  with  the  despotism  of  a  strong  nature,  she 
brought  up  her  dominant  instinct  to  put  down  these 
doubts,  and  saying  aloud,  "  Thou  knowest,  Righteous 
Judge,  if  I  have  served  Thee  or  not, — Thee,  and 
Thee  only,"  she  knocked,  and  in  a  moment  or  two 
passed  from  her  sombre  thoughts  into  the  life  and 
gayety  of  Miss  Howard's  parlor. 

The  scene  that  presented  itself  to  Hephzibah  when 
she  entered  the  parlor  was  not  fitted  to  soothe  or 
comfort  her.  At  the  table  the  abbe  was  showing 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  ji 

Miss  Howard  a  new  game  of  cards,  which  her  niece 
was  also  learning  unasked. 

"  No  news  of  Mr.  Guinness  ?"  said  Miss  Howard. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing,"  said  Hephzibah,  with  a 
pang  at  the  equivocation  ;  and  then  reflecting  that 
young  De  Vismes  might  have  mentioned  the  letters, 
she  added,  "  A  package  from  him  came  to-day." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Bess,"  said  Marguerite,  "  he  must 
come  home  soon  now." 

Hephzibah  was  in  a  state  of  irritation  which  made 
any  excuse  for  its  display  a  good  one.  "  Why  dost 
thou  call  Elizabeth  Howard,  Aunt  Bess?"  she  said. 
"  The  habit  is  unseemly." 

The  abbe  looked  surprised.  He  came  of  a  world 
which  took  life  easily. 

"  I  like  it,"  said  Elizabeth,  briefly :  "  it  is  my  wish. 
Suppose  we  put  aside  our  little  questions  of  discipline 
till  we  are  alone." 

"  All  hours  are  good  for  a  good  purpose,"  returned 
Hephzibah.  "  Does  the  child  learn  also  to  use  these 
tools  of  the  Great  Enemy?"  she  added,  pointing  to 
the  cards. 

Miss  Howard's  sense  of  humor  broke  out,  as  was 
her  way.  "  Poor  old  Satan  !"  she  said  :  "  how  much 
we  put  upon  him !  He  might  sue  the  whole  world 
for  slander." 

"  He  has  done  so  much  worse  in  my  France," 
sighed  the  abbe,  "  that  we  may  pardon  him  these 
morsels  of  paper." 

"  The  wrath  of  the  Great  Judge  hath  visited  thy 
unhappy  land,"  exclaimed  Hephzibah,  in  measured 
and  tranquil  tones.  "  Evil  hath  come  of  evil, — 


72  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

punishment  of  wrong-doing.  He  hath  purged  the 
threshing-floor:  He " 

"  Madame,"  said  the  abbe,  some  little  remnant  of 
nature  stirring  in  him,  "  my  mother  died  on  the 
guillotine:  you  should  of  kindness  fear  to  speak  thus 
to  one  of  my  race.  More  than  the  wicked  died, — 
women  who  were  sweet  and  pure  died ;  priests  better 
than  me ;  some  who  were  young,  and  had  not  even 
lied  ever  in  their  lives.  Ah,  if  we  older  ones  were  to 
die  thus,  we  could  without  doubt  find  a  reason  to 
call  it  punishment." 

Some  remembrance  arose  and  smote  Hephzibah ; 
but  there  must  have  been  a  cross  of  the  Puritan  in 
her  breed,  for  these  words  came  in  answer :  "  Why  He 
visiteth  the  sins  of  one  generation  on  another  is  His 
alone  to  know ;  but  we  have  none  sinned  so  little  that 
we  may  not  accept  punishment,  and  find  a  cause  in 
us  somewhere.  Yet  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  thee." 

The  abbe  rose  and  bowed  silently,  and  there  was  a 
moment  of  awkward  pause,  when  Marguerite  said, 
"  Oh,  aunt,  it  must  be  time  we  went." 

"  Where  ?"  said  Hephzibah. 

"  We  are  going  on  to  the  ice  to  see  the  skating, 
and  the  coasting  at  High  Street  on  the  hill  down 

to  the  river,  and  the  bonfires,  and "  And  she 

paused,  thinking  what  else  or  who  else  might  be  on 
the  ice. 

"  Will  you  go  with  us,  Hephzibah  ?"  said  Miss 
Howard,  civilly  but  coldly.  "  I  have  promised  Mar 
guerite,  as  we  shall  be  in  the  country  far  away  from 
here  next  year,  and  perhaps  she  may  never  have 
another  chance." 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  73 

"  You  mean  to  leave  us  ?"  said  Hephzibah.  "  Is 
not  this  a  new  plan  ?  And  Margaret  ?  Is  she  to 
go?  Dost  thou  think  of  taking  her." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  go  because  of 
her." 

"And  my  brother?   doth  he  approve?" 

"  He  does,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Any  more  questions, 
my  dear  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Hephzibah,  "but  I  thought  thou 
wouldst " 

"  Don't  think  for  other  people,  Hephzibah :  it 
makes  half  the  mischief  in  the  world." 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  said  Hephzibah,  "  to  think  for  this 
child." 

"  Do  not  you  think  also,"  said  Elizabeth,  whisper 
ing  in  a  quick  aside,  "  that  the  abbe  may  come  to 
believe  we  have  more  religion  than  manners?" 

"That  matters  little,"  returned  Hephzibah.  "I 
will  say  no  more  to  thee  now.  Farewell." 

"Madame  goes  not  on  the  ice?"  said  the  abbe; 
and  then,  unable  to  resist,  demurely  added,  "  It  would 
not  make  colder  madame." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  literal  Hephzibah, 
"why  it  should  not  make  me  cold." 

"  I  did  say  colder}'  said  the  abbe,  while  Elizabeth 
shook  her  fan  at  him,  to  his  delight. 

"  I  shall  see  you  soon,"  said  Hephzibah,  and  so  left 
them. 


74 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

IT  was  a  gay  and  merry  scene  on  which  the  little 
party  looked  as  they  stood  in  their  winter  wraps  at 
the  top  of  the  hill  which  sloped  downward  abruptly 
from  Front  Street  to  the  river.  The  broad  highway 
was  covered  with  beaten  snow,  and  at  the  river's 
brink  a  wide  planking  of  wooden  boards  extended 
from  the  edge  of  the  wharf  down  on  to  the  solid  ice 
of  the  stream.  On  either  side  bonfires  were  blazing, 
and  lit  with  flashing  glow  the  hipped  roofs  and  red 
brick  gables  at  the  corners  of  Front  and  Water 
Streets.  On  the  deep  ice  of  the  solid  river,  far  over 
towards  Windmill  Island,  fires  were  also  seen,  and 
around  these  swift-flitting  figures  on  skates  went  to 
and  fro,  dimly  seen  for  a  moment  and  then  lost  in 
the  darkness  which  lay  upon  all  distant  objects. 

At  the  line  of  Front  Street  a  crowd  of  the  better 
class  of  people  was  gathered,  intently  watching  the 
scene.  Boys,  men,  and  girls  on  long  sleds  were 
gliding  every  minute  from  the  top  of  the  hill.  At 
first  slowly,  with  noise  and  shouts  of  laughter,  they 
started  away  :  then  the  pace  quickened  and  they  flew 
past  the  fires  on  the  hill-slope  of  the  street,  now  seen, 
now  lost,  now  seen  again,  until  with  a  cry  they 
gained  the  ice  of  the  river  and  darted  with  delicious 
speed  across  the  black,  smooth  plane  of  the  silent 
Delaware. 

It  was  the  first  time  Marguerite  had  set  foot  on  a 


HEP  HZ  IB  AH  GUINNESS.  75 

frozen  river,  and  she  had  an  odd  sense  of  awe  and  in 
security.  Then  the  wildness  of  the  picture  began  to 
tell  upon  her  quick  and  sensitive  nature,  to  the  abbe's 
amusement  and  pleasure,  for  he  had  become  strangely 
fond  of  the  charming  little  Quaker  lady. 

Here  and  there  on  the  ice  were  bonfires,  from  which 
in  every  direction  fell  broad  flaring  shafts  of  rosy 
light  broken  by  the  long  shadows  of  the  skaters  as 
they  flew  around  the  blaze.  Many  of  the  coasters 
also  carried  pine-knot  torches,  and  as  they  dashed 
by  the  little  party  with  cry  and  laugh  the  lights 
flared,  and  then  sped  away  over  the  ice  until  they 
became  but  as  red  stars  in  the  distance. 

At  last  the  girl  urged  that  they  should  go  over  to 
Windmill  Island,  where  hundreds  of  people  were 
seen  by  the  light  of  a  vast  fire  engaged  in  barbecuing 
an  ox.  Here  they  lingered  a  while,  and  then  the 
abbe,  having  learned  that  the  ice  was  firm  and  safe,  pro 
posed  that  they  should  venture  over  a  little  towards 
the  Jersey  shore.  Accordingly,  they  crossed  the 
narrow  islet,  and  walked  some  two  hundred  yards 
out  on  the  farther  ice.  Here  were  no  fires,  but  a  dark 
quiet,  with  but  a  few  score  skaters  who  preferred  the 
tranquil  loneliness  of  the  broader  channel. 

"How  solemn  it  is,  aunt!"  said  the  girl  as  the 
black  night  grew  about  them  over  the  dark  ice, 
while,  noticed  only  by  Marguerite,  a  swift  form  on 
skates  flew  around  them,  now  near,  now  far,  in  grace 
ful  curves. 

Lured  by  the  beauty  of  the  faint  moonlight  on 
the  ice  and  by  the  charm  of  the  less-occupied  parts 
of  the  frozen  stream,  they  had  gone  some  distance 


76 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


farther,   when   the   abbe    said    abruptly,   "  What   is 
that  ?" 

A  loud  cracking  sound  came  from  the  ice  some 
distance  below  them.  In  this  direction  the  river  was 
partly  open,  and  the  gleam  of  the  moonlight  was 
visible  on  the  clear  water  among  the  cakes  of  floating 
ice.  As  they  stood  to  listen  ten  or  twelve  skaters 
clustered  about  them.  Then  there  was  another  and 
a  louder  sound. 

"  The  ice  must  be  breaking  up  with  the  ebb  tide," 
said  Miss  Howard,  startled.  "  Come,  let  us  get  back 
to  the  island." 

"  Ah,  yes,  we  shall  do  well  to  make  haste,"  said 
the  abbe,  as  the  sounds,  great  and  small,  came  quick 
and  sharp  through  the  keen,  clear,  frosty  stillness. 

At  this  moment  the  group  scattered  as  if  a  bomb 
shell  had  fallen  among  them.  The  skaters  flew  to 
right  and  left  as  a  loud  noise  like  a  pistol-shot  rang 
almost  beneath  their  feet,  while  a  crack  ran  along  the 
ice,  dimly  seen  as  the  cleft  suddenly  widened.  The 
abbe  and  Miss  Howard  sprang  back,  and  the  latter, 
looking  wildly  around,  cried  out,  "  Marguerite !  where 
are  you  ?  Marguerite  !" 

The  girl  in  her  curiosity  at  these  mysterious  sounds 
had  ventured  away  a  score  of  yards  farther  towards 
the  open  water.  "  Here,  here,  Aunt  Bess !"  she 
answered,  running  towards  her  aunt. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !"  cried  Miss  Howard.  "  My  child  ! 
my  child !"  for  the  ebbing  tide  had  broadened  the 
cleft  swiftly,  so  that  as  they  stayed  by  the  edge  it  had 
grown  in  a  few  moments  to  a  space  some  five  or  six 
feet  broad. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


77 


"Jump!  jump  over!"  screamed  Elizabeth.  "We 
will  catch  you." 

At  this  moment  several  persons  came  forward,  and 
a  tall  young  man  on  skates  cried  out  in  a  voice  of 
command,  "  For  the  love  of  the  saints,  do  not  move  ! 
It  is  now  too  late.  Wait !"  Jn  an  instant  he  was 
away,  flitting  back  into  the  darkness.  Then,  when  a 
hundred  feet  off,  he  turned  short,  and  crying  aloud, 
"  Gare !  gare  ! — I  would  say,  '  Take  care  !' — place ! 
place !"  he  skated  with  desperate  energy  straight 
towards  the  group,  and,  hardly  pausing,  gathered 
himself  up  at  the  edge  of  the  rift  and  with  a  leap 
bounded  over  the  open  space  of  water,  and  coming 
down  on  the  far  side  rocked  to  and  fro,  recovered  his 
balance,  flew  along  with  the  wild  impulse  of  his  leap, 
and  returning  in  one  long  curve  was  at  the  side  of 
the  frightened  girl.  The  ice  was  fast  floating  away. 

"  It  is  I,"  he  cried.  "  I  will  answer  for  her  with 
my  life.  It  is  I,  Henri  de  Vismes  !" 

"My  nephew!"  exclaimed  the  abbe.  "Be  tran 
quil  :  he  will  take  care  of  her." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  returned  Miss  Howard. 

"  Get  ashore,"  cried  young  De  Vismes,  "  before 
the  ice  breaks.  Seek  men,  that  they  do  bring  us  a 
boat." 

"  Oh,  my  darling !"  wailed  Elizabeth. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  exclaimed  the  young  baron,  now 
hardly  seen ;  and  the  ice,  as  they  exchanged  quick, 
agitated  words  of  cheer  and  comfort  and  alarm,  still 
moved  farther  and  farther  away.  They  could  now 
only  hear  the  voices  of  Marguerite  and  De  Vismes, 
who  themselves  were  no  longer  visible. 

7* 


7  8  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"  Come,"  said  the  abbe.  "  There  is  to  us  but  the 
one  thing  to  do."  And  in  silent  horror  Elizabeth 
followed  him  quickly  over  the  ice  to  the  shore  of  the 
island. 

Meanwhile,  the  fretting  river  worked  its  will,  and 
with  crush  and  cry  and  groan  and  shocks  the  broken 
floes  separated  from  the  main  mass  and  floated  off, 
now  grinding  together,  now  thrust  apart.  The  ice- 
island  on  which  the  two  young  people  stood  was 
about  half  an  acre  in  extent,  and  quite  safe  from  , 
being  overwhelmed.  The  danger  was  chiefly,  as  the 
baron  knew,  from  the  intense  winter  cold,  which 
happily  was  made  less  terrible  by  the  absence  of 
wind. 

The  moment  he  was  secure  on  the  ice  De  Vismes 
said  to  Marguerite,  "  Have  not  fear,  little  lady :  you 
are  safe.  It  is  but  to  wait." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  am  sorry 
for  aunt.  And  I  thank  you  so  very  much :  I  do  not 
think  many  men  could  have  done  that,  and" — with  a 
pause — "  I  am  sure  many  would  not." 

The  young  baron  laughed  gayly  :  "  It  was  nothing 
to  do,  and  I  could  not  have  left  you  alone.  I  should 
have  gone  through  the  water  that  I  might  come  to 
you.  Is  it  not  droll  that  we  should  know  one  another 
thus?  jfe  me presente,  mademoiselle.  I  am  the  baron 
Henri  de  Vismes." 

"And  I,"  said  his  companion,  "am  Miss  Marguerite 
Howard."  And  she  courtesied,  laughing  at  the 
strangeness  of  the  scene. 

Meanwhile,  as  they  talked,  the  baron  undid  his 
skates,  and  then,  noticing  that  the  girl  shuddered,  he 


HEPHZIBAH   GUINNESS.  79 

said,  "  It  makes  very  cold  here.  If  it  were  that  we 
had  a  bonfire !"  Then  he  took  off  his  cloak.  "  Put 
this  around  you,"  he  added. 

Marguerite  insisted  that  she  was  warm  enough. 
"You  will  freeze,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  am  happy,"  he  said,  "  and  they  who  are  happy 
do  not  suffer." 

"  Why  are  you  happy  ?"  said  Marguerite,  shivering. 
"  I  am  sure  I  am  not." 

"  Because,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  am  with  you." 

She  was  silent,  and,  innocent  as  she  was,  some 
instinct  restrained  her  tongue  while  the  cloak  was 
thrown  around  her  and  the  clasp  fastened  by  two 
strong  hands,  which  shook  as  they  touched  her 
throat. 

"  Let  us  walk,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is  safe  that  we 
keep  moving." 

In  this  manner  two  hours  fled  away.  Marguerite, 
despite  the  cloak,  was  shaking  with  the  growing  cold 
of  the  night,  and  De  Vismes  was  becoming  chilled 
and  anxious.  She  begged  to  sit  down,  but  the  young 
man  urged  her  to  motion,  and,  taking  her  hand  and 
laughing,  made  her  run  to  and  fro  on  the  ice. 

At  last  she  said,  "  I  am  strangely  sleepy :  let  me 
rest." 

"  To  rest  is  to  die,"  said  he,  calmly;  and  again  they 
moved  about,  both  of  them  silent  and  filled  with  a 
dread  of  which  they  did  not  speak,  while  the  ice 
floated  down  the  river  towards  the  Point  House,  and 
the  lights  and  the  bonfires  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer. 

After  a  long  silence  Marguerite  exclaimed,  "  I  can 
not  walk  now :  my  head  swims,  my  feet  must  be 


8o  HEPHZIBAH   GUINNESS. 

frozen  :  I  cannot  feel  them.  Oh,  I  shall  die !"  And, 
so  saying,  she  reeled,  and  but  for  the  ready  arms 
which  caught  her  would  have  fallen  on  the  ice.  De 
Vismes  laid  her  down,  resting  her  head  on  his  knee, 
and  without  a  word  stripped  off  his  coat  and  waist 
coat,  and,  glancing  anxiously  and  sadly  over  the 
water,  wrapped  his  clothes  around  her,  put  his  cap 
under  her  head  and  began  to  rub  her  feet.  Presently 
she  revived  a  little  under  the  influence  of  one  of  those 
strange  waves  of  reanimation  which  surprise  the 
watchers  by  death-beds  when  life  is  slowly  failing. 
"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  said.  "  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  Henri  de  Vismes,"  he  answered.  "  We  are 
on  the  ice  alone.  Pray  God  they  do  soon  come  to 
us,  or  we  die  of  cold!" 

"  I  remember  now,"  she  said.  "  You  said  we  must 
walk :  I  cannot  walk,  but  you  are  a  man  and  are 
strong.  Do  you  run  on  the  ice,  and  perhaps  you 
may  live  to  tell  Aunt  Bess  how  I  loved  her.  You 
see,  I  am  quite  warm:  I  have  no  pain  now — no  pain." 
And  her  voice  failed. 

De  Vismes  was  kneeling  beside  her  as  she  spoke. 
"  I  shall  not  ever  leave  you,"  he  said,  "  but  soon  I 
may  not  be  able  to  speak.  Therefore  think  not  I 
shall  go."  And  he  caught  her  close  to  him,  and  as 
her  head  lay  on  his  shoulder  he  said,  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  tell  you  until  I  had  said  it  to  your  aunt,  but 
now  it  does  not  make  matter:  I  love  thee.  Canst 
hear  me  say  I  love  thee  ?"  And  he  looked  piteously 
down  at  the  dimly-seen  face  beneath  his,  and  then 
across  the  cruel  waste  of  rocking  ice-floes. 

She  murmured  something. 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  8 1 

"What  dost  say,  Marguerite?"  And  he  drew  her 
closer. 

"I  thought — there  would  be  some  one — who  would 
love  me — some  day,"  she  muttered.  "  Aunt  Bess 
thinks  not.  Ah,  she  did  not  know."  Then  she  was 
silent,  and  spoke  no  words  in  answer  to  his  broken 
wail  of  love  and  pity. 

De  Vismes  sat  still,  feeling,  as  did  Marguerite,  the 
cold  less  and  less,  and  growing  confused  in  mind  and 
more  easy  in  body.  He  saw  the  dim  outlines  of  the 
splendid  sweep  of  the  Jura  Mountains,  the  turreted 
chateau,  the  warm  summer  sun  on  the  walnut-groves. 
He  dreamed  of  warmth  as  a  man  who  starves  dreams 
of  banquets.  Then  he  thought  how  many  De  Vismes 
had  died  in  the  saddle,  at  sea,  by  the  axe,  and  that 
he,  the  only  one  left,  was  to  perish  of  cold ;  and  then 
of  a  sudden  he  rose  up,  staggering  and  still  holding 
the  girl,  and  cried  aloud,  "  Torches  !  lights  !  Wake 
up,  wake  up,  Marguerite  !  wake  !  Saved  !  saved  !" 
and  reeling  fell  with  her,  while  cries  rang  across  the 
moonlit  river  and  swift  feet  hastened  from  a  boat 
along  the  ice. 

When  the  young  baron  awakened  from  the  swoon 
which  had  almost  been  death  he  was  lying  in  a  chintz- 
curtained  bed  with  high  mahogany  posts.  As  his 
head  cleared  he  saw  by  the  dim  light  Miss  Howard 
seated  near  the  fire.  "  Mademoiselle !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Mon  Dieu  !  where  am  I  ?" 

Miss  Howard  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment,  and 
drew  aside  the  curtains.  "  You  are  in  my  house," 
she  said,  kindly.  "Ask  no  questions  now.  You 
have  been  ill,  very  ill." 


82  HEPHZIBAII  GUINNESS. 

"  But/'  he  said,  "je  m'en  souviens.  Ah,  yes,  the  ice !" 
And  he  started  up.  "And  Marguerite,  mademoi 
selle?" 

"  She  is  well,"  said  Miss  Howard, — "  doing  well." 

"Ah!"  he  murmured,  and,  still  feeble,  fell  back 
again. 

After  this  the  days  went  by,  and  with  them  mem 
ory  returned,  and  he  made  out,  as  it  were  bit  by  bit, 
the  scene  on  the  ice,  and  learned  that  Marguerite 
had  recovered  even  more  rapidly  than  he.  Then  his 
uncle  came  to  see  him,  and  he  began  to  get  about 
his  room,  and  to  feel  that  he  should  no  longer  tax 
this  generous  hospitality. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

MEANWHILE,  in  Elizabeth  Howard's  bosom  was 
raging  a  storm  of  emotions  which  taxed  to  the 
uttermost  her  unusual  powers  of  self-control.  For 
years  she  had  sedulously,  almost  ridiculously, 
guarded  Marguerite  from  contact  with  the  other  sex. 
She  had  told  Arthur  that  she  meant  in  the  spring  to 
remove  to  the  country,  and  there  to  isolate  her  niece 
until  she  could  fully  make  clear  to  her  why  she  must 
never  think  of  marriage,  and  why  her  life  and  fate 
must  be  different  from  those  of  a  woman  whom 
destiny  had  left  free  to  love.  With  her  her  race 
must  end.  And  now  a  pitiless  accident  had  rudely 
broken  the  guard  she  had  set  about  her  niece  •  for 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  83 

in  his  ravings  De  Vismes  had  only  too  clearly  told 
the  story  of  his  passionate  first  love. 

But  perhaps  he  alone  loved ;  and  at  last  she  saw 
that  he  too  must  be  told  their  miserable  history,  and 
that  Marguerite's  young  life  must  also  be  darkened 
by  this  sombre  knowledge.  Miss  Howard  was  not  a 
person  to  abandon  a  purpose  to  which  duty  and  a 
clear  intelligence  had  guided  her,  and  once  resolved 
she  waited  only  until  De  Vismes  was  well  enough  to 
bear  an  appeal  to  his  honor  and  manliness. 

In  pursuance  of  her  views  she  so  arranged  it  that 
when  De  Vismes  and  Marguerite  first  met  after  their 
illness  it  should  be  in  her  own  presence.  There  was 
to  be  no  chance  for  sudden  love-passages  arising  out 
of  natural  gratitude ;  and  she  was  half  amused,  half 
sad  at  the  awkward  greetings  which  passed  between 
the  two  as  she  brought  them  together  in  her  parlor. 
But  love  has  eyes  as  well  as  lips,  and  rosy  blazonry 
on  cheeks  that  glow  with  too  warm  consciousness  of 
unspoken  thoughts. 

Just,  however,  as  the  scene  was  growing  awkward, 
Hephzibah  appeared,  and  after  many  questions  asked 
and  answered, — for  the  Quaker  spinster  was  of  a  curi 
ous  cast  of  mind, — she  turned  with  her  usual  abrupt 
ness  upon  De  Vismes,  saying,  "  Thou  wilt  be  going 
to  thy  lodgings  soon,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  coloring :  "  I  have 
been  too  long  an  intruder  here." 

"  We  owe  you  too  much  to  think  you  anything 
but  one  of  our  own  household,"  said  Elizabeth,  while 
Marguerite  looked  up  coyly  thankful. 

"  Yet  it  is  time  that  I  went  away,"  said  De  Vismes, 


84  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"  but  there  will  be  no  time  that  I  shall  regret  to  have 
been  here.     It  will  be  that  I  go  to-morrow." 

"  Is  there  no  news  of  Mr.  Guinness  ?"  said  Eliza 
beth. 

"  None  of  late,"  replied  Hephzibah  ;  and  so  saying 
left  them. 

The  evening  sped  away  pleasantly  with  cards  and 
mirth,  and  the  abbe  told  his  little  stories  of  the  French 
court.  At  last,  Marguerite  having  gone  to  bed  and 
the  abbe  departed,  De  Vismes  rose  and  said  to  Miss 
Howard,  "  This  will  be  my  last  good-night  in  your 
house.  Bon  soir,  mademoiselle.  I  shall  be  grieved 
to  leave  you :  I  shall  not  ever  forget." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Howard,  rising,  "  it  will  be  your 
last  good-night  here ;"  and  she  paused.  "  Will  you 
be  seated  a  little  while  ?  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

De  Vismes  looked  suprised,  but  with  ready  polite 
ness  sat  down  again,  saying,  "  Is  it  that  I  can  serve 
you  in  any  way  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Elizabeth;  "more  than  you  guess, 
perhaps  more  than  you  will  wish." 

"  Mademoiselle  does  not  yet  know  me,"  said  De 
Vismes. 

Elizabeth  went  on  abruptly  :  "  You  are  young  and 
joyous,  and  life  seems  gladsome  to  you  despite  many 
sorrows." 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  of  late  come  to  think  of 
it  as  most  sweet." 

"And  therefore,"  said  she,  sadly,  "  I  think  it  cruel, 
even  if  in  the  end  it  be  kind,  to  speak  as  I  must  do. 
You  love  my  niece." 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  35 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle  knows  it !  she  has  guessed  it ! 
How  kind  of  her  to  save  a  young  man  the  awkward 
task  to  speak,  to  say  he  loves !" 

"No  more,"  said  Miss  Howard.  "I  know  it;  and 
you  would  have  died  for  her?" 

"  Died  for  her,  if  it  might  be,  a  thousand  deaths," 
said  he.  "  I " 

"  And  if  so,"  broke  in  Elizabeth,—"  if  that  be  true, 
would  you  give  her  up  and  go  away  if  I  show  you 
that  to  marry  her  would  be  wrong — wrong  to  her, 
wrong  to  yourself — to  your  race,  to  your  blood,  to 
your  children's  children  ?" 

De  Vismes  grew  pale :  "  What  is  it  mademoiselle 
would  say  ?  If  that  she  will  come  to  love  me,  why 
is  it  we  may  not  marry  ?  There  is  no  shameful  thing 
possible." 

Miss  Howard  rose  :  the  task  was  too  hard  for  her. 
The  frank,  anxious  young  face  followed  her  as  she 
went  and  came.  At  last  she  paused :  "  There  is  in 
her  blood,  in  my  blood,  a  taint :  we  are  born  to  be 
insane,  to  take  our  own  lives.  We  are  of  a  doomed 
race.  We  may  not  love  as  others  do.  God  has  set 
a  curse  on  us.  We  may  not  marry;  we  may  not  see 
our  little  ones  grow  up  and  bless  us  as  other  women 
do.  They  would  come  to  curse  us  when  they  knew. 
They  would  ask,  Why  were  we  born  to  this  misery  ? 
Ah,  it  is  a  terrible  thing  that  you  have  come  to  love 
Marguerite !  But  you  will  pardon  me  my  abruptness  : 
I  meant  to  make  it  gentle,  but  how  can  I  ?" 

De  Vismes  looked  and  felt  bewildered.  The  sud 
denness  of  the  blow  indeed  overcame  him.  "  I  will 
think  of  what  you  have  said  to  me,  mademoiselle: 


86  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

I  cannot  now  gather  myself  to  think  of  it.  I — I — 
never  yet  did  hear  of  such  a  thing :  I  must  have  time 
to  reflect." 

"  Reflect !"  said  Elizabeth.  "  No,  no  ;  you  must 
act,  not  reflect.  You  love  her ;  that  is  a  reason  to 
act.  You  must  go  away,  and  come  back  no  more. 
You  must  never  see  her  again  on  earth.  Then  I 
shall  know  how  to  save  her.  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  do 
not  make  it  more  hard  for  me!  If  you  will  not  help 
me,  I  must  tell  her.  How  can  I  tell  her?" 

"  But  if  she  loves  me,"  cried  he,  in  despair,  "  how 
am  I  to  go, — to  go  and  leave  her, — to  see  her  no 
more, — to  let  her  think  of  me, — a  French  gentleman, 
a  noble, — as  of  a  man  who  would  say  when  as  if 
about  to  die,  '  I  love  thee,'  and  then  fly  and  make  no 
sign  ?" 

"  But  I  will  tell  her  when  you  are  gone,"  said 
Elizabeth.  "  You  shall  lose  nothing  in  my  hands. 
Surely  you  can  trust  me.  And  then  she  does  not 
love  you :  I  am  sure  she  cannot.  It  will  be  you 
only  who  will  suffer,  and  I  appeal  to  you  as  a 
gentleman  to  save  her.  I  am  sure  she  does  not 
love  you." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  said,  sorely  shaken. 

"  You  ought  not  to  hesitate,"  said  Miss  Howard; 
"you  ought  to  go.  Do  not  stay  until  you  win  her 
young  heart,  only  that  inevitable  parting  may  break 
it.  Why  wait?  You  seem  as  though  you  would 
yield  if  you  believed  what  I  say.  Ah,  trust  me,  she 
does  not  love  you." 

"  If  this  be  so,  I  will  go,"  said  De  Vismes,  white 
as  a  sheet.  "  I  will  go,  because  you  are  right ;  but 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  %j 

if  I  thought  she  loved  me,  I  would  trust  to  the  good 
God's  mercy  and  stay." 

"  Oh,  my  heavens !"  cried  Elizabeth,  in  despair. 
"  She  does  not  love  you." 

As  she  spoke,  Marguerite  glided  swiftly  into  the 
room,  crying  out,  "  You  have  no  right  to  speak  for 
me,  Aunt  Bess.  I — I  came  down  because  I  had  for 
gotten  to  kiss  you  good-night,  and  I  heard  you.  I — 
I Oh,  Aunt  Bess,  I  do  love  him!  Is  it  wrong?" 

"  Marguerite !"  said  De  Vismes ;  and  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  my  children!"  exclaimed  Elizabeth.  As  she 
spoke  the  knocker  sounded  again  and  again. 

"  What  is  that?"  said  Miss  Howard.  "  It  is  late; 
what  can  it  be  ?"  And  the  little  commonplaces  of  life 
broke  into  their  storm  of  fears  and  hopes  and  made 
a  sudden  quiet. 

"  I  will  go  to  see,"  said  De  Vismes,  "if  you  please. 
The  maid  must  have  gone  to  bed.  They  knock 
again." 

"  Yes,  oblige  me  by  seeing  who  it  is.  They  seem 
in  haste,"  said  Elizabeth. 

De  Vismes  went  into  the  entry  and  hastily  opened 
the  door.  He  fell  back  in  amazement  as  Hephzibah, 
not  recognizing  him,  went  past  him  with  no  more 
notice  than  to  say,  "  Is  thy  mistress  in  the  parlor?" 
and  then  suddenly  broke  into  the  room. 

Elizabeth  and  Marguerite  rose  in  amazement. 

Hephzibah  stood  still  an  instant  in  the  doorway, 
her  drab  cloak  dripping,  her  scant  gray  locks  fallen 
about  her  face  and  neck,  without  bonnet  or  other 
headgear. 


88  HEPHZIBAIl   GUINNESS. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Miss  Howard. 

Hephzibah  seized  her  arm  and  leaned  forward. 
"He  is  dead  !"  she  said.  "  Thou  hast  killed  him." 

"  I  ?     Who  ?"  exclaimed  Elizabeth. 

"Arthur,  my  Arthur,  my  brother  Arthur !  Do  not 
look  at  me  so.  Go  down  on  thy  knees  and  pray  for 
forgiveness." 

"  For  Heaven's  love,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  what  is  it, 
woman  ?  Did  you  say  Arthur  was  dead  ?  Tell  me 
about  it.  I — I  never  did  trust  you  :  this  cannot 
be." 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Hephzibah, — "  drowned, — the 
ship  lost, — the  news  just  come.  I  loved  no  one  like 
him.  Why  didst  thou  deny  him  the  poor  gift  that 
would  have  kept  him  here  ?" 

"  If,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  my  dear  Arthur  is  gone  to 
God,  I  am  answerable  to  the  dead  alone.  My  love ! 
my  love !"  And  she  sank  into  a  chair  in  a  passion 
of  tears,  while  De  Vismes  and  her  niece  ran  to  her 
side  and  silently  stood  by  her  as  if  to  comfort  and 
protect  her. 

Hephzibah,  white,  trembling,  with  hands  knitted 
in  front  of  her,  and  with  working  fingers,  remained 
alone  and  speechless,  looking  down  upon  the  little 
group.  At  last  she  said,  with  a  curious  unnatural 
firmness,  "  There  are  many  things  to  talk  of,  Eliza 
beth  Howard." 

Elizabeth  looked  up.  "Are  you  of  flesh  and  blood, 
woman?"  she  cried.  "Go!  go  away!  I  cannot  talk 
with  you  to-night.  Take  her  home,  some  one." 

"  That  were  best,"  said  De  Vismes. 

"  I  should  better  do  my  Master's  errand  were  I  to 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


89 


forget  on  His  service  the  loved  one  I  have  lost," 
returned  Hephzibah.  "  To-day  is  His  time.  To 
morrow, — to-morrow Who  owns  to-morrow  ? 

Had  I  been  more  ready  in  the  past  to  warn  my 
brother  of  the  snares  of  the  worldlings,  he  might 
yet  be  alive." 

"  Go  !"  said  Miss  Howard.  And  De  Vismes  took 
the  Quakeress  kindly  but  firmly  by  the  arm,  saying, 
"  Come  ;  the  time  is  not  well  for  speech."  And  they 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

"  Poor  Aunt  Bess !"  cried  Marguerite.  "  If  only  I 
could  do  something  for  you  !" 

"  Only  One  can  do  that,  my  child,"  said  Elizabeth. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  news  of  Arthur  Guinness's  death  fell  with 
varied  influence  upon  those  who  were  near  or  dear 
to  him. 

An  awful  temptation  was  by  Fate  put  away  from 
the  path  of  Miss  Howard.  The  man  she  loved  was 
taken,  and  with  him  went,  as  she  knew  only  too  well, 
much  of  the  little  sunshine  of  her  life.  It  was  more 
like  widowhood  to  her  than  such  a  loss  would  have 
been  to  a  younger  woman ;  and  it  was  characteristic 
of  the  woman  and  of  her  life  that  after  the  first  sharp 
anguish  she  accepted  her  new  sorrow  as  brave  men 
accept  sentence  of  death,  and  that  with  eyes  more 

8* 


9o 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


than  ever  set  on  the  future  she  took  up  the  threads 
of  duty  anew,  and  went  sweetly  and  pleasantly  along 
the  ways  of  life. 

To  Hephzibah  she  was  that  enigma  which  a  person 
with  a  strong  overruling  sense  of  humor  must  always 
be  to  one  who  knows  no  note  in  the  wide  gamut  of 
mirth-making  thoughts.  That,  as  time  went  on,  Miss 
Howard  could  smile, — nay,  worse,  laugh, — that  the 
little  events  of  daily  life  could  still  afford  her  amuse 
ment,  seemed  to  Hephzibah  a  constant  insult  to  her 
brother's  memory.  But  some  laugh  through  life, — 
laugh  if  they  win  or  lose ;  and  some  cry  if  they 
always  win ;  and  Elizabeth  would  have  gone  with  a 
smile  to  any  fate  which  life  could  bring.  The  ex 
asperation  which  this  temperament  wrought  on 
Hephzibah  had  unhappily  evil  consequences,  and 
perhaps  was  the  overweight  which  turned  the  balance 
of  her  decisions. 

Her  brother's  death  left  her  possessed  of  the  pa 
pers  which  would  give  her  steady  control  over  the 
spiritual  destinies  of  Marguerite,  whose  sole  guard 
ian  she  now  became.  She  found  it  easy  to  assure 
herself  that  a  fortune  was  bad  for  the  girl, — that  to 
fall  under  Elizabeth's  entire  rule  was  yet  more  evil  for 
the  child.  Then,  too,  Elizabeth,  goaded  to  despair 
by  her  new  assumptions  as  time  went  by,  rose  in 
revolt,  as  any  noble  nature  must  have  done,  until  at 
last  Hephzibah  became  more  and  more  certain  that 
nothing  could  be  surer  spiritual  death  for  her  ward 
than  the  fate  which  would  be  hers  if  the  later 
wishes  of  William  Howard  became  known.  Come 
what  might,  a  long  while  must  elapse  before  it  be- 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS.  QJ 

came  clear  through  other  sources  that  the  child  was 
not  destined  to  Quakerism.  Letters  were  lost  every 
week  in  those  days,  and  war  everywhere  made  it  as 
likely  as  not  that  years  would  pass  before  the  truth 
was  made  manifest.  Therefore  it  was  that  the  letters 
lay  in  Arthur  Guinness's  desk  safe  enough,  and  that 
the  months  fled  away  and  the  spring  came. 

Meanwhile,  Marguerite  went  listlessly  about  her 
daily  tasks,  with  a  sense  that  much  of  the  sweetness 
of  her  young  life  had  gone  from  her ;  for,  after  one 
or  two  more  interviews  with  her  lover,  she  had  been 
told  by  Miss  Howard  the  dark  story  of  her  race,  and 
had  come  at  last,  like  De  Vismes  and  Arthur  Guin 
ness,  to  acquiesce  in  the  decree  by  which  Elizabeth 
had  forbidden  for  them  as  for  herself  the  thought 
of  love  or  marriage. 

It  was  the  old,  sad,  beautiful  tale  of  love  con 
trolled  by  duty.  But  to  see  one  another,  to  meet 
and  to  part  with  no  utterance  of  their  forbidden  love, 
was  fast  becoming  a  task  too  grave  for  youthful  hu 
man  hearts.  The  baron  felt  that  it  behooved  him  as 
a  man  to  end  the  ever-renewed  struggle  by  leaving 
the  city.  Therefore  on  an  afternoon  in  the  end  of 
May  there  was  a  scene  in  Miss  Howard's  home  of 
bitter  final  parting,  from  which  De  Vismes  tore  him 
self  away  with  the  sobs  of  Marguerite  echoing  in 
his  ears.  He  went  out  through  the  paling  fence, 
and  moved  westward  along  Shippen  to  Argyle 
Street,  half  consciously  avoiding  the  ways  where  he 
could  meet  faces  that  he  knew.  Here  he  turned 
westward  on  his  favorite  walk  towards  the  Neck, 
along  Kingsessing  Road,  then  lined  with  fields  and 


92 


HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 


pasture-grounds,  and  presently  felt  a  kindly  arm  on 
his  own  and  heard  his  uncle  say,  "  Thou  hast  been 
hurt  of  a  woman,  my  dear.  Shall  I  be  disagreeable 
to  walk  with  thee?  I  know  that  fortune  went  not 
well  with  thee,  Henri,  because  we  are  poor  and 
friendless.  Were  it  not  so,  thy  Quaker  maid  had 
not  said  nay  to  one  of  our  house." 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  the  baron,  "  it  is  still  as  I  told 
thee.  There  is  more  to  put  us  one  from  the  other 
than  the  want  of  love.  It  is  not  my  secret,  and  I 
cannot  tell  thee." 

"  As  thou  pleasest,"  said  the  abbe.  "  Women  are 
alike  all  the  world  over:  men  may  vary,  but  women 
never.  Ah,  if  I  could  but  endow  thee  with  my  ex 
perience,  thou  mightst  have  good  luck  with  the  lady. 
And  she  is  handsome  too,  and  I  am  told  will  have  a 
good  dot.  One  acquires  experience  too  late." 

The  baron  was  silent,  as  his  mood  fitted  not  with 
the  abbe's  cynical  ways,  and  they  walked  along  qui 
etly.  By  and  by  they  came  upon  the  Penrose  Ferry 
Road,  and  the  frogs  began  to  croak  their  vespers 
and  a  faint  haze  rose  up  over  the  broad  meadows  of 
the  Neck  lands,  while  the  setting  sun,  large,  round, 
and  crimson,  hung  on  the  far  horizon's  verge  across 
the  Schuylkill.  A  windmill's  sails  turned  slowly  on 
the  left  of  the  road,  and  the  sound  of  the  milking- 
pans  and  the  lowing  of  cows  crossed  the  flat  pas 
tures  and  ditches,  and  came  pleasantly  to  the  ears  of 
the  exiles  as  they  paused  to  listen,  soothed  by  the 
peaceful  sweetness  of  the  hour.  Then  a  flock  of 
sheep  came  along  the  road,  and  as  they  jostled  one 
another  the  dust  of  the  highway  made  a  cloud  of 


HEP  HZ  I  BAH  GUINNESS. 


93 


rosy  gold  over  and  about  them  and  the  herdsman 
who  walked  behind  in  a  check  cloak  and  slouched 
hat. 

"  It  is  like  our  Normandy,"  said  the  abbe.  "  But, 
mon  Dieu,  what  is  this  ?"  for  as  he  spoke  they  were 
aware  of  a  tall,  largely-made  man  coming  towards 
them  with  quick  steps. 

The  baron  darted  forward :  "  It  is — is  it  ? — nay,  it 
is  you,  Mr.  Guinness !  Where  is  it  that  you  have 
come  from  ?  We  have  thought  you  dead." 

"  Ah,  this  is  most  happy,"  cried  the  abbe. 

"  By  the  will  of  Providence,"  said  Arthur,  "  it  is 
indeed  I, — a  man  saved  after  shipwreck  and  many 
perils.  I  landed  at  New  Castle  to-day,  and  made 
haste  to  drive  home,  but,  my  carnage  breaking 
down,  I  am  come  these  last  few  miles  afoot.  Are  all 
well, — Elizabeth,  Hephzibah,  Marguerite  ?" 

"All,"  said  the  baron;  "and  what  joy  will  there 
be!" 

Then  Arthur  went  on  to  tell  his  story,  and  at  last 
it  was  agreed  that  the  abbe  should  hasten  in  advance 
to  tell  Hephzibah,  and  that  the  baron  should  also 
warn  Miss  Howard,  lest  the  women  should  be  too 
much  startled  by  this  sudden  return  of  Arthur. 

The  abbe  reached  Miss  Guinness's  house  a  half- 
hour  after,  and  with  what  result  we  shall  presently 
hear.  When,  still  later,  he  entered  Miss  Howard's 
home,  he  found  the  little  group,  half  in  tears,  half  in 
laughter,  surrounding  the  dear  friend  who  had  so 
unexpectedly  come  back.  Elizabeth  was  saying  to 
the  baron,  "  It  was  good  and  thoughtful  of  you  to 
come  beforehand  and  tell  me.  I  thank  you."  And 


94  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

then  a  small  hand  stole  furtively  into  his,  and  he  felt 
by  its  tender  touch  that  he  was  still  better  thanked. 

"But  what  ails  thee,  friend  De  Vismes  ?"  said 
Arthur;  and  all  turned  to  look  at  the  abbe,  who  was 
flushed  and  excited. 

"  Oh,  a  thing  most  strange,"  replied  the  abbe,  "  and 
I  must  tell  it." 

"Why  not?"  said  Miss  Howard,  looking  up  with 
flushed  and  joyful  face. 

"  And  I  must  leave  thee,"  said  Arthur.  "  It  was 
on  my  way  to  pass  here,  and  I  could  not  go  by  with 
out  a  word ;  but  now  I  would  seek  Hephzibah." 

"She  is  not  in  her  house,"  said  the  abbe;  "and 
before  you  go  I  may  ask  that  a  thing  be  for  me  made 
clear." 

"And  what?"  said  Arthur.  "Tell  us  soon,  for  I 
may  not  tarry  on  my  way  home." 

"I  did  go,"  said  the  abbe,  "with  haste  to  tell 
mademoiselle  the  sister  of  your  soon  coming,  but  the 
small  maid  gave  me  assurance  that  she  was  not  at 
home ;  and  then  I  did  think  I  would  leave  a  word 
written  to  say  all  I  had  to  say ;  and  that  I  might 
write  I  was  asked  of  the  maid  to  go  into  the  room 
of  M.  Guinness,  where  sometimes  we  have  smoked. 
And  when,  the  maid  having  opened  the  desk  and  left 
me,  I  ended  the  little  note,  I  saw  with  amazement  on 
a  bundle  of  papers  which  had  a  look  to  be  old  the 
name  of  me,  Gaston  de  Vismes,  abbe.  And  as  it 
seemed  of  my  address,  I  did  not  attend  long  before 
I  unfolded  the  sheets  and  read.  What  I  read  was  to 
me  as  a  dream,  as  a  dream  of  the  past,  as  a  tale  of 
the  dead, — of  my  sister.  I  am  troubled :  I  say, '  This 


HEPHZ1BAH  GUINNESS,  95 

is  mine.'  I  find  in  the  leaves  a  letter  of  Miss  How 
ard  :  I  bring  it  too,  I  bring  all.  You  will  make  for 
me  excuses.  This  paper  is  what  the  dead  say.  It 
disturbs  me,  I  am  shaken.  Here  is  the  letter  for 
you,  Mademoiselle  Howard." 

At  this  moment  Hephzibah  entered  the  room ; 
she  had  come  by  an  accident  hither.  She  saw  first 
in  the  abbe's  hands  the  papers  she  had  concealed, 
and  heard  his  last  rapid,  troubled  sentences. 

"  Thou  hast  stolen  my  papers,"  she  said,  coldly ; 
and  then  of  a  sudden,  as  she  advanced  a  step,  she 
caught  sight  of  Arthur,  who  ran  forward  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Hephzibah  !  sister  !"  he  cried,  "  I  am  come  again. 
Our  heavenly  Father  has  heard  thy  prayers." 

"  Arthur !"  she  said,  and  for  a  brief  moment, 
locked  in  his  strong  arms,  she  remembered  only 
that  this  one  loved  heart  yet  beat.  But  then  sud 
denly  there  came  upon  her  the  horror  and  fear  of 
the  discovery  which  was  about  to  spring  upon  her. 
She  was  not  a  woman  to  wait  her  fate  or  keep  si 
lence,  hoping  to  escape.  While  the  little  group 
watched  this  solemn  meeting  of  the  brother  and  sis 
ter  she  gathered  herself  up,  calmly  adjusted  her  gray 
bonnet,  and  said,  "  Wilt  thou  come  home  with  me, 
Arthur?  I  have  much  to  say.  These  papers  were 
in  a  cover  addressed  by  thee  to  me :  I  will  take  them 
now."  And  she  moved  towards  the  amazed  abbe. 

"  Nay,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  it  seems  that  they  belong 
to  the  abbe.  And  my  own  letter,  it  has  a  distant 
date.  Why,  woman,  did  you  really  dare  to  keep  this 
from  me  ?" 


96  HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  said  Arthur ;  and  all  eyes 
turned  upon  Hephzibah. 

"  Give  me  my  papers,"  she  said.  "  We  should  talk 
of  them  alone,  Arthur." 

"  But,"  said  the  abbe,  "  I  have  read  them." 

"  Thou  hast  read  them  ?"  said  Hephzibah,  in  meas 
ured  tones. 

"  Why  not  ?"  exclaimed  Arthur,  puzzled. 

"  And  they  say  that  it  was  my  sister,  the  Marquise 
de  la  Roche,  which  Mr.  Howard  did  marry  to  save 
from  death ;  and  the  child  is  my  niece,  and  not  his 
daughter." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Elizabeth.  "  What  dream  is 
this  ?"  And  she  seized  the  girl  as  if  fearing  to  lose 
her,  and  added,  "  But  you  kept  these  papers,  Heph 
zibah  ?  You  thought  Arthur  dead :  you  meant  to 
keep  them  always.  Oh,  woman!  woman!  how  could 
you  ?  Arthur,  I  would  not  have  told  this  :  I  did  not 
know.  I  am  sorry :  I  pity  her." 

"  Thou  hast  no  need,"  said  Hephzibah.  "  What  I 
did  was  under  a  concern,  but  the  way  has  not  opened, 
and  I  am  freed." 

"  Oh,  Hephzibah  !"  exclaimed  Arthur,  and  sinking 
into  a  chair  he  covered  his  face. 

"  I  am  grieved  only  to  have  hurt  thee,  brother," 
said  Hephzibah.  "  The  girl  is  lost  to  Friends :  the 
world  hath  her." 

"  And,"  cried  the  young  De  Vismes,  "  she  is  of  our 
own  blood, — my  cousin  !  A/i,  mon  ame  /"  And  he 
caught  the  bewildered  girl  in  his  arms,  while  Heph 
zibah  turned  quietly  and  went  out  into  the  street. 


THEE    AND    YOU. 


ONCE  on  a  time  I  was  leaning  over  a  book  of  the 
costumes  of  forty  years  before,  when  a  little  lady  said 
to  me,  "  How  ever  could  they  have  loved  one  another 
in  such  queer  bonnets  ?"  And  now  that  since  then 
long  years  have  sped  away,  and  the  little  critic  is, 
alas  !  no  longer  young,  haply  her  children,  looking 
up  at  her  picture,  by  Sully,  in  a  turban  and  short  waist, 
may  have  wondered  to  hear  how,  in  such  disguise,  she 
too  was  fatal  to  many  hearts,  and  set  men  by  the  ears, 
and  was  a  toast  at  suppers  in  days  when  the  waltz 
was  coming  in  and  the  solemn  grace  of  the  minuet 
lingered  in  men's  manners. 

And  so  it  is,  that,  calling  up  anew  the  soft  Sep 
tember  mornings  of  which  I  would  draw  a  picture 
before  they  fade  away  with  me  also,  from  men's 
minds,  it  is  the  quaintness  of  dress  which  first  comes 
back  to  me,  and  I  find  myself  wondering  that  in 
nankeen  breeches  and  swallow-tailed  blue  coats  with 
buttons  of  brass  once  lived  men  who,  despite  gnarled- 
rimmed  beavers  and  much  wealth  of  many-folded 
E  S  9  97 


98  THEE  AND    YOU. 

cravats,  loved  and  were  loved  as  well  and  earnestly 
as  we. 

I  had  been  brought  up  in  the  austere  quiet  of  a 
small  New  England  town,  where  life  was  sad  and 
manners  grave,  and  when  about  eighteen  served  for 
a  while  in  the  portion  of  our  army  then  acting  in  the 
North.  The  life  of  adventure  dissatisfied  me  with 
my  too  quiet  home,  and  when  the  war  ended,  I  was 
glad  to  accept  the  offer  of  an  uncle  in  China  to  enter 
his  business  house.  To  prepare  for  this  it  was  de 
cided  that  I  should  spend  six  months  with  one  of  the 
great  East  India  firms.  For  this  purpose  I  came  to 
Philadelphia,  and  by  and  by  found  myself  a  boarder 
in  an  up-town  street,  in  a  curious  household  ruled 
over  by  a  lady  of  the  better  class  of  the  people  called 
Friends. 

For  many  days  I  was  a  lonely  man  among  the 
eight  or  ten  persons  who  came  down,  one  by  one,  at 
early  hours  to  our  breakfast  table  and  ate  somewhat 
silently  and  went  their  several  ways.  Mostly,  we 
were  clerks  in  the  India  houses  which  founded  so 
many  Philadelphia  fortunes,  but  there  were  also  two 
or  three  of  whom  we  knew  little,  and  who  went  and 
came  as  they  liked. 

It  was  a  quiet  lodging-house,  where,  because  of 
being  on  the  outskirts  and  away  from  the  fashion  and 
stir  of  the  better  streets,  those  chiefly  came  who 
could  pay  but  little,  and  among  them  some  of  the 
luckless  ones  who  are  always  to  be  found  in  such 
groups, — stranded  folks,  who  for  the  most  part  have 
lost  hope  in  life.  The  quiet,  pretty  woman  who 
kept  the  house  was  of  an  ancient  Quaker  stock  which 


THEE  AND    YOU.  99 

had  come  over  long  ago  in  a  sombre  Quaker  May 
flower,  and  had  by  and  by  gone  to  decay,  as  the  best 
of  families  will.  When  I  first  saw  her  and  some  of 
her  boarders  it  was  on  a  pleasant  afternoon  early  in 
September,  and  I  recall  even  now  the  simple  and 
quiet  picture  of  the  little  back  parlor  where  I  sat 
down  among  them  as  a  new  guest.  I  had  been  tran 
quilly  greeted,  and  had  slipped  away  into  a  corner 
behind  a  table,  whence  I  looked  out  with  some  curi 
osity  on  the  room  and  on  the  dwellers  with  whom 
my  lot  was  to  be  cast  for  a  long  while  to  come.  I 
was  a  youth  shy  with  the  shyness  of  my  age,  but 
having  had  a  share  of  rough,  hardy  life,  ruddy  of 
visage  and  full  of  that  intense  desire  to  know  things 
and  people  that  springs  up  quickly  in  those  who  have 
lived  in  country  hamlets  far  from  the  stir  and  bustle 
of  city  life. 

The  room  I  looked  upon  was  strange,  the  people 
strange.  On  the  floor  was  India  matting,  cool  and 
white.  A  panel  of  painted  white  woodwork  ran 
around  an  octagonal  chamber,  into  which  stole 
silently  the  evening  twilight  through  open  windows 
and  across  a  long  brick-walled  garden-space  full  of 
roses  and  Virginia  creepers  and  odorless  wisterias. 
Between  the  windows  sat  a  silent,  somewhat  stately 
female,  dressed  in  gray  silk,  with  a  plain  muslin  cap 
about  the  face,  and  with  long  and  rather  slim  arms 
tightly  clad  in  silk.  Her  fingers  played  at  hide-and- 
seek  among  some  marvellous  stitchery, — evidently  a 
woman  whose  age  had  fallen  heir  to  the  deft  ways  of 
her  youth.  Over  her  against  the  wall  hung  a  portrait 
of  a  girl  of  twenty,  somewhat  sober  in  dress,  with 


IOO 


THEE   AND    YOU. 


what  we  should  call  a  Martha  Washington  cap.  It 
was  a  pleasant  face,  unstirred  by  any  touch  of  fate, 
with  calm  blue  eyes  awaiting  the  future. 

The  hostess  saw,  I  fancied,  my  set  gaze,  and  rising 
came  toward  me  as  if  minded  to  put  the  new-comer 
at  ease.  "  Thee  does  not  know  our  friends  ?"  she 
said.  "  Let  me  make  thee  known  to  them." 

I  rose  quickly  and  said,  "  I  shall  be  most  glad." 

We  went  over  toward  the  dame  between  the  win 
dows.  "  Grandmother,"  she  said,  raising  her  voice, 
"  this  is  our  new  friend,  Henry  Shelburne,  from  New 
England." 

As  she  spoke  I  saw  the  old  lady  stir,  and  after  a 
moment  she  said,  "  Has  he  a  four-leaved  clover  ?" 

"  That  is  what  she  always  says.  Thee  will  get 
used  to  it  in  time." 

"  We  all  do,"  said  a  voice  at  my  elbow  ;  and  turn 
ing,  I  saw  a  man  of  about  thirty  years  old,  dressed 
in  the  plainest-cut  Quaker  clothes,  but  with  the  con 
tradiction  to  every  tenet  of  Fox  written  on  his  face, 
where  a  brow  of  gravity  forever  read  the  riot  act  to 
eyes  that  twinkled  with  ill-repressed  mirth.  WThen 
I  came  to  know  him  well,  and  saw  the  preternatural 
calm  of  his  too  quiet  lips,  I  used  to  imagine  that 
unseen  little  demons  of  ready  laughter  were  forever 
twitching  at  their  corners. 

"  Grandmother  is  very  old,"  said  my  hostess. 

"  Awfully  old,"  said  my  male  friend,  whose  name 
proved  to  be  Richard  Wholesome. 

"  Thee  might  think  it  sad  to  see  one  whose  whole 
language  has  come  to  be  just  these  words,  but  some 
times  she  will  be  glad  and  say,  '  Has  thee  a  four- 


THEE  AND    YOU.  IOI 

leaved  clover  ?'  and  sometimes  she  will  be  ready  to 
cry,  and  will  say  only  the  same  words.  But  if  thee 
were  to  say,  '  Have  a  cup  of  coffee  ?'  she  would  but 
answer,  'Has  thee  a  four-leaved  clover?'  Does  it 
not  seem  strange  to  thee,  and  sad  ?  We  are  used  to 
it,  as  it  might  be, — quite  used  to  it.  And  that  above 
her  is  her  picture  as  a  girl." 

"  Saves  her  a  deal  of  talking,"  said  Mr.  Wholesome, 
"  and  thinking.  Any  words  would  serve  her  as  well. 
Might  have  said,  '  Topsail  halyards,'  all  the  same." 

"  Richard  !"  said  Mistress  White.  Mistress  Pris- 
cilla  White  was  her  name. 

"  Perchance  thee  would  pardon  me,"  said  Mr. 
Wholesome. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  a  third  voice  in  the  window, 
"  does  the  nice  old  dame  know  what  color  has  the 
clover  ?  and  does  she  remember  fields  of  clover, — pink 
among  the  green  ?" 

"  There  is  a  story,"  said  Priscilla,  "  that  when  my 
grandmother  was  yet  a  young  woman,  my  grand 
father  on  the  day  that  he  died, — his  death  being 
sudden, — fetched  her  from  the  field  a  four-leaved 
clover,  and  so  the  memory  of  it  clings  while  little  else 
is  left." 

"  Has  thee  a  four-leaved  clover  ?"  re-echoed  the 
voice  feebly  from  between  the  windows. 

The  man  who  was  curious  as  to  the  dame's  re 
membrances  was  a  small  stout  person  whose  arms 
and  legs  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  him,  and  whose 
face  was  strangely  gnarled,  like  the  odd  face  a  boy 
might  carve  on  a  hickory-nut,  but  was  withal  a  visage 
pleasant  and  ruddy. 


102  THEE  AND    YOU. 

"  That,"  said  Mistress  White  as  she  moved  away, 
"  is  Mr.  Schmidt, — an  old  boarder  with  some  odd 
ways  of  his  own  which  we  mostly  forgive.  A  good 
man — if  it  were  not  for  his  pipe,"  she  added  demurely, 
— "  altogether  a  good  man." 

"  With  or  without  his  pipe,"  said  Mr.  Wholesome. 

"  Richard !"  returned  our  hostess,  with  a  half 
smile. 

"  Without  his  pipe,"  he  added ;  and  the  unseen 
demons  twitched  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  anew. 

Altogether,  these  seemed  to  me  droll  people,  they 
said  so  little,  and,  saving  the  small  German,  were  so 
serenely  grave.  I  suppose  that  first  evening  must 
have  made  a  deep  mark  on  my  memory,  for  to  this 
day  I  recall  it  with  the  clearness  of  a  picture  still 
before  my  eyes.  Between  the  windows  sat  the  old 
dame  with  hands  quiet  on  her  lap  now  that  the  twi 
light  had  grown  deeper, — a  silent,  gray  Quaker 
sphinx,  with  only  one  remembrance  out  of  all  her 
seventy  years  of  life.  In  the  open  window  sat  as  in 
a  frame  the  daughter,  a  woman  of  some  twenty-five 
years,  rosy  yet  as  only  a  Quakeress  can  be  when 
rebel  nature  flaunts  on  the  soft  cheek  the  colors  its 
owner  may  not  wear  on  her  gray  dress.  The  outline 
was  of  a  face  clearly  cut  and  noble  as  if  copied  from 
a  Greek  gem, — a  face  filled  with  a  look  of  constant 
patience  too  great  perhaps  for  one  woman's  share, 
with  a  certain  weariness  in  it  also,  yet  cheerful  too, 
and  even  almost  merry  at  times, — the  face  of  one 
more  thoughtful  of  others  than  of  herself,  and,  despite 
toil  and  sordid  cares,  a  gentlewoman,  as  was  plain 
to  see.  The  shaft  of  light  from  the  window  in 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


103 


which  she  sat  broadened  into  the  room,  and  faded  to 
shadow  in  far  corners  among  chairs  with  claw  toes 
and  shining  mahogany  tables, — the  furniture  of  that 
day,  with  a  certain  flavor  about  it  of  elegance,  reflect 
ing  the  primness  and  solidness  of  the  owners.  I 
wonder  if  to-day  our  furniture  represents  us  too  in 
any  wise  ?  At  least  it  will  not  through  the  gener 
ations  to  follow  us  :  of  that  we  may  be  sure.  In  the 
little  garden,  with  red  gravelled  walks  between  rows 
of  box,  Mr.  Schmidt  walked  to  and  fro,  smoking  his 
meerschaum, — a  rare  sight  in  those  days,  and  almost 
enough  to  ensure  your  being  known  as  odd.  He 
walked  about  ten  paces,  and  went  and  came  on  the 
same  path,  while  on  the  wall  above  a  large  gray  cat 
followed  his  motions  to  and  fro,  as  if  having  some 
personal  interest  in  his  movements.  Against  an 
apricot  tree  leaned  Mr.  Wholesome,  watching  with 
gleams  of  amusement  the  cat  and  the  man,  and  now 
and  then  filliping  at  the  cat  a  bit  of  plaster  which  he 
pulled  from  the  wall.  Then  she  would  start  up  alert, 
and  the  man's  face  would  get  to  be  quizzically  un 
conscious  ;  after  which  the  cat  would  settle  down  and 
the  game  begin  anew.  By  and  by  I  was  struck  with 
the  broad  shoulders  and  easy  way  in  which  Whole 
some  carried  his  head,  and  the  idea  came  to  me  that 
he  had  more  strength  than  was  needed  by  a  member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends,  or  than  could  well  have 
been  acquired  with  no  greater  exercise  of  the  limbs 
than  is  sanctioned  by  its  usages.  In  the  garden  were 
also  three  elderly  men,  all  of  them  quiet  and  clerkly, 
who  sat  on  and  about  the  steps  of  the  other  window 
and  chatted  of  the  India  ships  and  cargoes,  their  talk 


104 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


having  a  flavor  of  the  spices  of  Borneo  and  of  well- 
sunned  madeira.  These  were  servants  of  the 
great  India  houses  when  commerce  had  its  nobles, 
and  lines  were  sharply  drawn  in  social  life. 

I  was  early  in  bed,  and  rising  betimes  went  down 
to  breakfast,  which  was  a  brief  meal,  this  being,  as 
Mr.  Wholesome  said  to  me,  the  short  end  of  the  day. 
I  should  here  explain  that  Mr.  Wholesome  was  a 
junior  partner  in  the  house  in  which  I  was  to  learn 
the  business  before  going  to  China.  Thus  he  was 
the  greatest  person  by  far  in  our  little  household, 
although  on  this  he  did  not  presume,  but  seemed  to 
me  greatly  moved  toward  jest  and  merriment,  and 
to  sway  to  and  fro  between  gayety  and  sadness,  or 
at  the  least  gravity,  but  more  toward  the  latter  when 
Mistress  White  was  near,  she  seeming  always  to  be 
a  checking  conscience  to  his  mirth. 

On  this  morning,  as  often  after,  he  desired  me  to 
walk  with  him  to  our  place  of  business,  of  which  I 
was  most  glad,  as  I  felt  shy  and  lonely.  Walking 
down  Arch  Street,  I  was  amazed  at  its  cleanliness, 
and  surprised  at  the  many  trees  and  the  unfamiliar 
figures  in  Quaker  dresses  walking  leisurely.  But 
what  seemed  to  me  most  curious  of  all  were  the  plain 
square  meeting-houses  of  the  Friends,  looking  like 
the  toy  houses  of  children.  I  was  more  painfully 
impressed  by  the  appearance  of  the  graves,  one  so 
like  another,  without  mark  or  number,  or  anything 
in  the  disposition  of  them  to  indicate  the  strength 
of  those  ties  of  kinship  and  affection  which  death 
had  severed.  Yet  I  grew  to  like  this  quiet  highway, 
and  when  years  after  I  was  in  Amsterdam  the  resem- 


THEE  AND    YOU.  IO5 

blance  of  its  streets  to  those  of  the  Friends  here  at 
home  overcame  me  with  a  crowd  of  swift-rushing 
memories.  As  I  walked  down  of  a  morning  to  my 
work,  I  often  stopped  as  I  crossed  Fifth  Street  to 
admire  the  arch  of  lindens  that  barred  the  view  to 
the  westward,  or  to  gaze  at  the  inscription  on  the 
Apprentices'  Library,  still  plain  to  see,  telling  that 
the  building  was  erected  in  the  eighth  year  of  the 
Empire. 

One  morning  Wholesome  and  I  found  open  the 
iron  grating  of  Christ  Church  graveyard,  and  passing 
through  its  wall  of  red  and  black  glazed  brick,  he 
turned  sharply  to  the  right,  and  coming  to  a  corner 
bade  me  look  down  where,  under  a  gray  plain  slab 
of  worn  stone,  rests  the  body  of  the  greatest  man,  as 
I  have  ever  thought,  whom  we  have  been  able  to 
claim  as  ours.  Now  a  bit  of  the  wall  is  gone,  and 
through  a  railing  the  busy  or  idle  or  curious,  as  they 
go  by,  may  look  in  and  see  the  spot  without  entering. 

Sometimes,  too,  we  came  home  together,  Whole 
some  and  I,  and  then  I  found  he  liked  to  wander  and 
zigzag,  not  going  very  far  along  a  street,  and  showing 
fondness  for  lanes  and  byways.  Often  he  would  turn 
with  me  a  moment  into  the  gateway  of  the  Univer 
sity  Grammar  School  on  Fourth  Street,  south  of 
Arch,  and  had,  I  thought,  great  pleasure  in  seeing 
the  rough  play  of  the  lads.  Or  often,  as  we  came 
home  at  noon,  he  liked  to  turn  into  Paradise  Alley, 
out  of  Market  Street,  and  did  this,  indeed,  so  often 
that  I  came  to  wonder  at  it,  and  the  more  because  in 
an  open  space  between  this  alley  and  Commerce 
Street  was  the  spot  where  almost  every  day  the 


IO6  THEE  AND    YOU. 

grammar-school  boys  settled  their  disputes  in  the 
way  more  common  then  than  now.  When  first  we 
chanced  on  one  of  these  encounters,  I  was  surprised 
to  see  Mr.  Wholesome  look  about  him  as  if  to  be 
sure  that  no  one  else  was  near,  and  then  begin  to 
watch  the  combat  with  a  strange  interest.  Indeed, 
on  one  occasion  he  utterly  astonished  me  by  taking 
by  the  hand  a  small  boy  who  had  been  worsted  and 
leading  him  with  us,  as  if  he  knew  the  lad,  which 
may  well  have  been.  But  presently  he  said,  "  Reu 
ben  thee  said  was  thy  name  ?"  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  the 
lad.  "Well,"  said  Mr.  Wholesome, — after  buying 
him  a  large  and  very  brown  horse  gingerbread,  two 
doughnuts,  and  a  small  pie, — "when  you  think  it 
worth  while  to  hit  a  fellow,  never  slap  his  face,  be 
cause  then  he  will  strike  you  hard  with  his  fist,  which 
hurts,  Reuben.  Now,  mind :  next  thee  strikes  first 
with  the  fist,  my  lad,  and  hard,  too."  If  I  had  seen 
our  good  Bishop  White  playing  at  taws,  I  could  not 
have  been  more  overcome,  and  I  dare  say  my  face 
may  have  shown  it,  for,  glancing  at  me,  he  said  de 
murely,  "Thee  has  seen  in  thy  lifetime  how  hard  it 
is  to  get  rid  of  what  thee  liked  in  thy  days  of  boy 
hood."  After  which  he  added  no  more  in  the  way 
of  explanation,  but  walked  along  with  swift  strides 
and  a  dark  and  troubled  face,  silent  and  thoughtful. 
I  observed  many  times  after  this  that  the  habits  and 
manners  of  Friends  sat  uneasily  on  Mr.  Wholesome, 
and  that  when  excited  he  was  quite  sure  to  give  up 
for  a  time  his  habitual  use  of  Friends'  language,  and 
to  let  slip  now  and  then  phrases  or  words  which  were 
in  common  use  among  what  Mistress  Priscilla  called 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


ID/ 


world's  people.     It  was  a  good  while  before  I  came 
to  understand  the  source  of  these  peculiar  traits. 

Sometimes  in  the  early  morning  I  walked  to  my 
place  of  business  with  Mr.  Schmidt,  who  was  a  man 
so  altogether  unlike  those  about  him  that  I  found  in 
him  a  new  and  varied  interest.  He  was  a  German, 
and  spoke  English  with  a  certain  quaintness  and 
with  the  purity  of  speech  of  one  who  has  learned  the 
tongue  from  books  rather  than  from  men.  I  found 
after  a  while  that  this  guess  of  mine  was  a  good  one, 
and  that,  having  been  bred  an  artist,  he  had  been  put 
in  prison  for  some  political  offence,  and  had  in  two 
years  of  loneliness  learned  English  from  our  older 
authors.  When  at  last  he  was  set  free  he  took  his 
little  property  and  came  away  with  a  bitter  heart  to 
our  freer  land,  where,  with  what  he  had  and  with  the 
lessons  he  gave  in  drawing,  he  was  well  able  to  live 
the  life  he  liked  in  quiet  ease  and  comfort.  He  was 
a  kindly  man  in  his  ways,  and  in  his  talk  gently 
cynical ;  so  that,  although  you  might  be  quite  sure 
as  to  what  he  would  do,  you  were  never  as  safe  as  to 
what  he  would  say ;  wherefore  to  know  him  a  little 
was  to  dislike  him,  but  to  know  him  well  was  to  love 
him.  There  was  a  liking  between  him  and  Whole 
some,  but  each  was  more  or  less  a  source  of  wonder 
ment  to  the  other.  Nor  was  it  long  before  I  saw 
that  both  these  men  were  patient  lovers  in  their  way 
of  the  quiet  and  pretty  Quaker  dame  who  ruled  over 
our  little  household,  though  to  the  elder  man,  Mr. 
Schmidt,  she  was  a  being  at  whose  feet  he  laid  a 
homage  which  he  felt  to  be  hopeless  of  result,  while 
he  was  schooled  by  sorrowful  fortunes  to  accept  the 


I08  THEE  AND    YOU. 

position  as  one  which  he  hardly  even  wished  to 
change. 

It  was  on  a  warm  sunny  morning  very  early,  for 
we  were  up  and  away  betimes,  that  Mr.  Schmidt 
and  I  and  Wholesome  took  our  first  walk  together 
through  the  old  market-sheds.  We  turned  into 
Market  Street  at  Fourth  Street,  whence  the  sheds 
ran  downwards  to  the  Delaware.  The  pictures  they 
gave  me  to  store  away  in  my  mind  are  all  of  them 
vivid  enough,  but  none  more  so  than  that  which  I 
saw  with  my  two  friends  on  the  first  morning  when 
we  wandered  through  them  together. 

On  either  side  of  the  street  the  farmers'  wagons 
stood  backed  up  against  the  sidewalk,  each  making  a 
cheap  shop,  by  which  stood  the  sturdy  owners  under 
the  trees,  laughing  and  chaffering  with  their  custom 
ers.  We  ourselves  turned  aside  and  walked  down 
the  centre  of  the  street  under  the  sheds.  On  either 
side  at  the  entry  of  the  market,  odd  business  was 
being  plied,  the  traders  being  mostly  colored  women 
with  bright  chintz  dresses  and  richly-tinted  ban 
danna  handkerchiefs  coiled  turban-like  above  their 
dark  faces.  There  were  rows  of  roses  in  red  pots, 
and  venders  of  marsh  calamus,  and  "  Hot  corn,  sah, 
smokin'  hot,"  and  "  Pepper-pot,  bery  nice,"  and  sell 
ers  of  horse-radish  and  snapping-turtles,  and  of 
doughnuts  dear  to  grammar-school  lads.  Within 
the  market  was  a  crowd  of  gentlefolks,  followed  by 
their  black  servants  with  baskets, — the  elderly  men 
in  white  or  gray  stockings,  with  knee-buckles,  the 
younger  in  very  tight  nankeen  breeches  and  pumps, 
frilled  shirts,  and  ample  cravats,  and  long  blue  swal- 


THEE  AND    YOU.  109 

low-tailed  coats  with  brass  buttons.  Ladies  whose 
grandchildren  go  no  more  to  market  were  there  in 
gowns  with  strangely  short  waists  and  broad  gypsy 
bonnets,  with  the  flaps  tied  down  by  wide  ribbons 
over  the  ears.  It  was  a  busy  and  good-humored 
throng. 

"Ah,"  said  Schmidt,  "what  color!"  and  he  stood 
quite  wrapped  in  the  joy  it  gave  him  looking  at  the 
piles  of  fruit,  where  the  level  morning  sunlight, 
broken  by  the  moving  crowd,  fell  on  great  heaps  of 
dark-green  watermelons  and  rough  cantaloupes,  and 
warmed  the  wealth  of  peaches  piled  on  trays  backed 
by  red  rows  of  what  were  then  called  love-apples, 
and  are  now  known  as  tomatoes ;  while  below  the 
royal  yellow  of  vast  overgrown  pumpkins  seemed  to 
have  set  the  long  summer  sunshine  in  their  golden 
cheeks. 

"  If  these  were  mine,"  said  Schmidt,  "  I  could  not 
forever  sell  them.  What  pleasure  to  see  them  grow 
and  steal  to  themselves  such  sweet  colors  out  of  the 
rainbow  which  is  in  the  light!" 

"  Thee  would  make  a  poor  gardener,"  said  Whole 
some,  "  sitting  on  thy  fence  in  the  sun  and  watching 
thy  pumpkins, — damn  nasty  things  anyhow!" 

I  looked  up  amazed  at  the  oath,  but  Schmidt  did 
not  seem  to  remark  it,  and  went  on  with  us,  lingering 
here  and  there  to  please  himself  with  the  lovely  con 
trasts  of  the  autumn  fruit. 

"  Curious  man  is  Schmidt,"  remarked  Wholesome 
as  we  passed  along.  "  I  could  wish  thee  had  seen 
him  when  we  took  him  this  way  first.  Old  Betsey, 
yonder,  sells  magnolia  flowers  in  June,  and  also  pond- 


110 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


lilies,  which  thee  may  know  as  reasonably  pleasant 
things  to  thee  or  me ;  but  of  a  sudden  I  find  our 
friend  Schmidt  kneeling  on  the  pavement  with  his 
head  over  a  tub  of  these  flowers,  and  every  one 
around  much  amazed." 

"Was  it  not  seemly?"  said  Schmidt,  joining  us. 
"There  are  those  who  like  music,  but  to  me  what 
music  is  there  like  the  great  attunement  of  color? 
and  mayhap  no  race  can  in  this  rise  over  our  black 
artists  hereabout  the  market-ends." 

"  Thee  is  crazed  of  many  colors,"  said  Wholesome, 
laughing, — "  a  bull  of  but  one." 

Schmidt  stopped  short,  to  Wholesome's  disgust. 
"  What,"  said  he,  quite  forgetful  of  the  crowd,  "  is 
more  cordial  than  color  ?  This  he  recalleth  was  a 
woman  black  as  night,  with  a  red  turban  and  a  lapful 
of  magnolias,  and  to  one  side  red  crabs  in  a  basket, 
and  to  one  side  a  tubful  of  lilies.  Moss  all  about,  I 
remember." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Wholesome.  "  The  man  is 
cracked,  and  in  sunny  weather  the  crack  widens." 

And  so  we  went  away  down  street  to  our  several 
tasks,  chatting  and  amused. 

Those  were  most  happy  days  for  me,  and  I  found 
at  evening  one  of  my  greatest  pleasures  when 
Schmidt  called  for  me  after  our  early  tea  and  we 
would  stroll  together  down  to  the  Delaware,  where 
the  great  India  ships  lay  at  wharves  covered  with 
casks  of  madeira  and  boxes  of  tea  and  spices.  Then 
we  would  put  out  in  his  little  row-boat  and  pull  away 
toward  Jersey,  and,  after  a  plunge  in  the  river  at 
Cooper's  Point,  would  lazily  row  back  again  while 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


Ill 


the  spire  of  Christ  Church  grew  dim  against  the  fading 
sunset,  and  the  lights  would  begin  to  show  here  and 
there  in  the  long  line  of  sombre  houses.  By  this 
time  we  had  grown  to  be  sure  friends,  and  a  little 
help  from  me  at  a  moment  when  I  chanced  to  guess 
that  he  wanted  money  had  made  the  bond  yet 
stronger.  So  it  came  that  he  talked  to  me,  though  I 
was  but  a  lad,  with  a  curious  freedom,  which  very 
soon  opened  to  me  a  full  knowledge  of  those  with 
whom  I  lived. 

One  evening,  when  we  had  been  drifting  silently 
with  the  tide,  he  suddenly  said  aloud,  "  A  lion  in  the 
fleece  of  the  sheep." 

"What?"  said  I,  laughing. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Wholesome,"  he  replied.  "  But 
you  do  not  know  him.  Yet  he  has  that  in  his  coun 
tenance  which  would  betray  a  more  cunning  crea 
ture." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  urged,  being  eager  to  know  more  of 
the  man  who  wore  the  garb  and  tongue  of  Penn,  and 
could  swear  roundly  when  moved. 

"  If  it  will  amuse,"  said  the  German,  "  I  will  tell 
you  what  it  befell  me  to  hear  to-day,  being  come 
into  the  parlor  when  Mistress  White  and  Wholesome 
were  in  the  garden,  of  themselves  lonely." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  I,  "  that  you  listened  when 
they  did  not  know  of  your  being  there  ?" 

"  And  why  not  ?"  he  replied.  "  It  did  interest  me, 
and  to  them  only  good  might  come." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  it  was  not " 

"Well?"  he  added,  as  I  paused," 'Was  not 

honor/  you  were  going  to  say  to  me.  And  why 


H2  THEE  AND    YOU. 

not?     I  obey  my  nature,  which  is  more  curious  than 
stocked  with  honor.     I  did  listen." 

"And  what  did  you  hear?"  said  I. 

"Ah,  hear!"  he  answered.  "What  better  is  the 
receiver  than  is  the  thief?  Well,  then,  if  you  will 
share  my  stolen  goods,  you  shall  know,  and  I  will 
tell  you  as  I  heard,  my  memory  being  good." 

"  But "  said  I. 

"  Too  late ;  you  stop  me,"  he  added ;  "  you  must 
hear  now." 

The  scene  which  he  went  on  to  sketch  was  to  me 
strange  and  curious,  nor  could  I  have  thought  he 
could  give  so  perfect  a  rendering  of  the  language, 
and  even  the  accent,  of  the  two  speakers.  It  was 
also  a  revelation  of  the  man  himself,  and  he  seemed 
to  enjoy  his  power,  and  yet  to  suffer  in  the  telling, 
without  perhaps  being  fully  conscious  of  it.  The 
oars  dropped  from  his  hands  and  fell  in  against  the 
thwarts  of  the  boat,  and  he  clasped  his  knees  and 
looked  up  as  he  talked,  not  regarding  at  all  his 
single,  silent  listener. 

"  When  this  is  to  be  put  upon  the  stage  there  shall 
be  a  garden  and  two  personages." 

"  Also,"  said  I,  "  a  jealous  listener  behind  the 
scenes." 

"  If  you  please,"  he  said  promptly,  and  plunged  at 
once  into  the  dialogue  he  had  overheard : 

" '  Richard,  thee  may  never  again  say  the  words 
which  thee  has  said  to  me  to-night.  There  is,  thee 
knows,  that  between  us  which  is  builded  up  like  as 
a  wall  to  keep  us  the  one  from  the  other.' 

"  *  But  men  and  women  change,  and  a  wall  crum- 


THEE  AND    YOU.  U^ 

bles,  or  thee  knows  it  may  be  made  to.  Years  have 
gone  away,  and  the  man  who  stole  from  thee  thy 
promise  may  be  dead,  for  all  thee  knows.' 

"'Hush!  thee  causes  me  to  see  him,  and  though 
the  dead  rise  not  here,  I  am  some  way  assured  he  is 
not  yet  dead,  and  may  come  and  say  to  me  "  'Cilia," 
— that  is  what  he  called  me, — "  thee  remembers  the 
night  and  thy  promise,  and  the  lightning  all  around 
us,  and  who  took  thee  to  shore  from  the  wrecked 
packet  on  the  Bulkhead  Bar."  The  life  he  saved  I 
promised.' 

"  '  Well,  and  thee  knows By  Heaven  !  you 

well  enough  know  who  tortured  the  life  he  gave, — 
who  robbed  you, — who  grew  to  be  a  mean  sot,  and 
went  away  and  left  you ;  and  to  such  you  hold,  with 
such  keep  faith,  and  wear  out  the  sweetness  of  life 
waiting  for  him !' 

"  '  Richard !' 

" '  Have  I  also  not  waited,  and  given  up  for  thee  a 
life,  a  career, — little  to  give.  I  hope  thee  knows  I 
feel  that.  Has  thee  no  limit,  Priscilla  ?  Thee  knows 
— God  help  me !  how  well  you  know — I  love  you. 
The  world,  the  old  world  of  war  and  venture,  pulls 
at  me  always.  Will  not  you  find  it  worth  while  to 
put  out  a  hand  of  help  ?  Would  it  not  be  God  taking 
your  hand  and  putting  it  in  mine?' 

"  '  Thee  knows  I  love  thee.' 

" '  And  if  the  devil  sent  him  bacK  to  curse  you 
anew ' 

"  '  Shame,  Richard  !  I  would  say,  the  Lord  who 
layeth  out  for  each  his  way,  has  'pointed  mine/ 

"'And  I?' 

h  10* 


U4  THEE  AND    YOU. 

11 1  Thee  would  continue  in  goodness,  loving  me 
as  a  sister  hardly  tried.' 

" '  By  God  !  I  should  go  away  to  sea.' 

" '  Richard !' 

"  Which  is  the  last  word  of  this  scene,"  added 
Schmidt.  "  You  mayhap  have  about  you  punk  and 
flint  and  steel." 

I  struck  a  light  in  silence,  feeling  moved  by  the 
story  of  the  hurt  hearts  of  these  good  people,  and 
wondering  at  the  man  and  his  tale.  Then  I  said, 
"  Was  that  all  ?" 

"  Could  you,  if  not  a  boy,  ask  me  to  say  more  of 
it?  Light  thy  pipe  and  hold  thy  peace.  Happy 
those  who  think  not  of  women.  I,  who  have  for  a 

hearth-side  only  the  fire  of  an  honest  pipe 'Way 

there,  my  lad !  pull  us  in  and  forget  what  a  loose 
tongue  and  a  soft  summer  night  have  given  thee  to 
hear  from  a  silly  old  German  who  is  grown  weak  of 
head  and  sore  at  soul.  How  the  lights  twinkle !" 

Had  I  felt  any  doubt  at  all  of  the  truth  of  his  nar 
ration,  I  should  have  ceased  to  do  so  when,  for  the 
next  few  days,  I  watched  Mr.  Wholesome,  and  saw 
him,  while  off  his  guard,  looking  at  Mistress  White 
askance  with  a  certain  wistful  sadness,  as  of  a  great 
honest  dog  somehow  hurt  and  stricken. 

When  an  India  ship  came  in,  the  great  casks  of 
madeira,  southside,  grape  juice,  bual,  and  what  not 
were  rolled  away  into  the  deep  cellars  of  the  India 
houses  on  the  wharves,  and  left  to  purge  their  vinous 
consciences  of  such  perilous  stuff  as  was  shaken  up 
from  their  depths  during  the  long  homeward  voyage. 
Then,  when  a  couple  of  months  had  gone  by,  it  was 


THEE  AND    YOU.  II5 

a  custom  for  the  merchant  to  summon  a  few  old  gen 
tlemen  to  a  solemn  tasting  of  the  wines  old  and  new. 
Of  this,  Mr.  Wholesome  told  me  one  day,  and  thought 
I  had  better  remain  to  go  through  the  cellars  and  drive 
out  the  bungs  and  drop  in  the  testers,  and  the  like. 
"  I  will  also  stay  with  thee,"  he  added,  "  knowing 
perhaps  better  than  thee  the  prices." 

I  learned  afterward  that  Wholesome  always  stayed 
on  these  occasions,  and  I  had  reason  to  be  glad  that 
I  too  was  asked  to  stay,  for,  as  it  chanced,  it  gave  me 
a  further  insight  into  the  character  of  my  friend  the 
junior  partner. 

I  recall  well  the  long  cellar  running  far  back  under 
Water  Street,  with  its  rows  of  great  casks,  of  which 
Wholesome  and  I  started  the  bungs  while  awaiting 
the  new-comers.  Presently  came  slowly  down  the 
cellar-steps  our  senior  partner  in  nankeen  shanks, 
silk  stockings,  and  pumps, — a  frosty-visaged  old 
man,  with  a  nose  which  had  fully  earned  the  right  to 
be  called  bottle.  Behind  him  limped  our  old  porter 
in  a  blue  check  apron.  He  went  round  the  cellar, 
and  at  every  second  cask,  having  lighted  a  candle, 
he  held  it  upside  down  until  the  grease  had  fallen 
thick  on  the  cask,  and  then  turning  the  candle  stuck 
it  fast  in  its  little  pile  of  tallow,  so  that  by  and  by 
the  cellar  was  pretty  well  lighted.  Presently,  in 
groups  or  singly,  came  old  and  middle-aged  gentle 
men,  and  with  the  last  our  friend  Schmidt,  who  wan 
dered  off  to  a  corner  and  sat  on  a  barrel-head  watch 
ing  the  effects  of  the  mingling  of  daylight  and  can 
dlelight,  and  amused  in  his  quiet  way  at  the  scene 
and  the  intense  interest  of  the  chief  actors  in  it, 


!l6  THEE  AND    YOU. 

which,  like  other  things  he  did  not  comprehend,  had 
for  him  the  charm  of  oddness.  I  went  over  and 
stood  by  him  while  the  porter  dropped  the  tester- 
glass  into  the  cool  depths  of  cask  after  cask,  and 
solemn  counsel  was  held  and  grave  decisions  reached. 
I  was  enchanted  with  one  meagre,  little  old  gentle 
man  of  frail  and  refined  figure,  who  bent  over  his 
wine  with  closed  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  all  the  sense- 
impressions  he  did  not  need,  while  the  rest  waited  to 
hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Needs  a  milk  fining,"  muttered  the  old  gentle 
man,  with  eyes  shut  as  if  in  prayer. 

"  Wants  its  back  broke  with  a  good  lot  of  egg 
shell,"  said  a  short,  stout  man  with  a  snuff-colored 
coat,  the  collar  of  which  came  well  up  the  back  of 
his  head. 

"Ach!"  murmured  Schmidt.  "The  back  to  be 
hurt  with  eggshell !  What  will  he  say  with  that  ?" 

"  Pshaw !"  said  a  third :  "  give  it  a  little  rest,  and 
then  the  white  of  an  egg  to  every  five  gallons.  Is  it 
bual?" 

"  Is  it  gruel  ?"  said  our  senior  sarcastically. 

"  Wants  age.  A  good  wine  for  one's  grandchil 
dren,"  murmured  my  old  friend  with  shut  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  he  calls  gruel  ?"  whispered  Schmidt. 
"  How  nice  is  a  picture  he  makes  when  he  shuts  his 
eyes  and  the  light  of  the  candle  comes  through  the 
wine,  all  bright  ruby,  in  the  dark  here !  And  ah, 
what  is  that?"  for  Wholesome,  who  had  been  taking 
his  wine  in  a  kindly  way,  and  having  his  say  with 
that  sense  of  being  always  sure  which  an  old  taster 
affects,  glancing  out  of  one  of  the  little  barred  cellar- 


THEE  AND    YOU.  nj 

windows  which  looked  out  over  the  wharf,  said  ab 
ruptly,  "  Ha !  ha !  that  won't  do  !" 

Turning,  I  saw  under  the  broad-brimmed  hat  in 
the  clear  gray  eyes  a  sudden  sparkle  of  excitement 
as  he  ran  hastily  up  the  cellar-stairs.  Seeing  that 
something  unusual  was  afloat,  I  followed  him  quickly 
out  on  to  the  wharf,  where  presently  the  cause  of 
his  movement  was  made  plain. 

Beside  the  wharf  was  a  large  ship,  with  two  planks 
running  down  from  her  decks  to  the  wharf.  Just  at 
the  top  of  the  farther  one  from  us  a  large  black- 
haired,  swarthy  man  was  brutally  kicking  an  aged 
negro,  who  was  hastily  moving  downward,  clinging 
to  the  hand-rail.  Colored  folks  were  then  apt  to  be 
old  servants, — that  is  to  say,  friends, — and  this  was 
our  pensioned  porter,  old  Tom.  I  was  close  behind 
Wholesome  at  the  door  of  the  counting-house.  I 
am  almost  sure  he  said  "  Damnation !"  At  all  events, 
he  threw  down  his  hat,  and  in  a  moment  was  away 
up  the  nearer  plank  to  the  ship's  deck,  followed  by 
me.  Meanwhile,  however,  the  black  and  his  pur 
suer  had  reached  the  wharf,  where  the  negro,  stum 
bling  and  still  clinging  to  the  rail,  was  seized  by  the 
man  who  had  struck  him.  In  the  short  struggle 
which  ensued  the  plank  was  pulled  away  from  the 
ship's  side,  and  fell  just  as  Wholesome  was  about  to 
move  down  it.  He  uttered  an  oath,  caught  at  a  loose 
rope  which  hung  from  a  yard,  tried  it  to  see  if  it  was 
fast,  went  up  it  hand  over  hand  a  few  feet,  set  a  foot 
on  the  bulwarks,  and  swung  himself  fiercely  back 
across  the  ship,  and  then,  with  the  force  thus  gained, 
flew  far  in  air  above  the  wharf,  and  dropping  lightly 


H8  THEE  AND    YOU. 

on  to  a  pile  of  hogsheads,  leapt  without  a  word  to 
the  ground,  and  struck  out  with  easy  power  at  the 
man  he  sought,  who  fell  as  if  a  butcher's  mallet  had 
stunned  him, — fell,  and  lay  as  one  dead.  The  whole 
action  would  have  been  amazing  in  any  man,  but  to 
see  a  Quaker  thus  suddenly  shed  his  false  skin  and 
come  out  the  true  man  he  was,  was  altogether  be 
wildering, — the  more  so  for  the  easy  grace  with 
which  the  feat  was  done.  Everybody  ran  forward, 
while  Wholesome  stood,  a  strange  picture,  his  eyes 
wide  open  and  his  pupils  dilated,  his  face  flushed  and 
lips  a  little  apart,  showing  his  set  white  teeth  while 
he  awaited  his  foe.  Then,  as  the  man  rallied  and  sat 
up,  staring  wildly,  Wholesome  ran  forward  and  looked 
at  him,  waving  the  crowd  aside.  In  a  moment,  as 
the  man  rose  still  bewildered,  his  gaze  fell  on  Whole 
some,  and,  growing  suddenly  white,  he  sat  down  on 
a  bundle  of  staves,  saying  faintly,  "  Take  him  away ! 
Don't  let  him  come  near!" 

"  Coward!"  said  I;  "  one  might  have  guessed  that." 

"There  is  to  him,"  said  Schmidt  at  my  elbow, 
"some  great  mortal  fear;  the  soul  is  struck." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wholesome,  "  the  soul  is  struck. 
Some  one  help  him," — for  the  man  had  fallen  over 
in  something  like  a  fit, — and  so  saying  strode  away, 
thoughtful  and  disturbed  in  face,  as  one  who  had 
seen  a  ghost. 

As  he  entered  the  counting-house  through  the 
group  of  dignified  old  merchants,  who  had  come  out 
to  see  what  it  all  meant,  one  of  them  said,  "  Pretty 
well  for  a  Quaker,  Friend  Richard!" 

Wholesome  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  but  walked 


THEE  AND    YOU.  \\g 

in,  drank  a  glass  of  wine  which  stood  on  a  table,  and 
sat  down  silently. 

"  Not  the  first  feat  of  that  kind  he  has  done,"  said 
the  elder  of  the  wine-tasters. 

"  No,"  said  a  sea-captain  near  by.  "  He  boarded 
the  Penelope  in  that  fashion  during  the  war,  and  as 
he  lit  on  her  deck  cleared  a  space  with  his  cutlass 
till  the  boarding-party  joined  him." 

"  With  his  cutlass  ?"  said  I.  "  Then  he  was  not 
always  a  Quaker?" 

"No,"  said  our  senior;  "they  don't  learn  these 
gymnastics  at  Fourth  and  Arch,  though  perchance 
the  overseers  may  have  a  word  to  say  about  it." 

"  Quaker  or  not,"  said  the  wine-taster,  "  I  wish  any 
of  you  had  legs  as  good  or  a  heart  as  sound.  Very 
good  body,  not  too  old,  and  none  the  worse  for  a 
Quaker  fining." 

"  That's  the  longest  sentence  I  ever  heard  Wilton 
speak,"  said  a  young  fellow  aside  to  me ;  "  and,  by 
Jove  !  he  is  right." 

I  went  back  into  the  counting-house  and  was 
struck  with  the  grim. sadness  of  face  of  our  junior 
partner.  He  had  taken  up  a  paper  and  affected  to  be 
reading,  but,  as  I  saw,  was  staring  into  space.  Our 
senior  said  something  to  him  about  Old  Tom,  but  he 
answered  in  an  absent  way,  as  one  who  half  hears  or 
half  heeds.  In  a  few  moments  he  looked  up  at  the 
clock,  which  was  on  the  stroke  of  twelve,  and  seeing 
me  ready,  hat  in  hand,  to  return  home  for  our  one- 
o'clock  dinner,  he  gathered  himself  up,  as  it  were, 
limb  by  limb,  and  taking  his  wide-brimmed  hat 
brushed  it  absently  with  his  sleeve.  Then  he  looked 


12Q  THEE  AND    YOU. 

at  it  a  moment  with  a  half  smile,  put  it  on  decisively 
and  went  out  and  away  up  Arch  Street  with  swifter 
and  swifter  strides.  By  and  by  he  said,  "  You  do 
not  walk  as  well  as  usual." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  no  one  could  keep  up  with  you." 

"Do  not  try  to ;  leave  a  sore  man  to  nurse  his 
hurts.  I  suppose  you  saw  my  folly  on  the  wharf, — 
saw  how  I  forgot  myself?" 

"  Ach !"  said  Schmidt,  who  had  toiled  after  us  hot 
and  red,  and  who  now  slipped  his  quaint  form  in  be 
tween  us ;  "  Ach  !  '  You  forgot  yourself.'  This  say 
you  ?  I  do  think  you  did  remember  your  true  self 
for  a  time  this  morning." 

"Hush!  I  am  a  man  ashamed.  Let  us  talk  no 
more  of  it.  I  have  ill  kept  my  faith,"  returned 
Wholesome,  impatiently. 

"  You  may  believe  God  doth  not  honor  an  honest 
man,"  said  Schmidt ;  "  which  is  perhaps  a  God 
Quaker,  not  the  God  I  see  to  myself." 

I  had  so  far  kept  my  peace,  noting  the  bitter  self- 
reproach  of  Wholesome,  and  having  a  lad's  shyness 
before  an  older  man's  calamity ;  but  now  I  said  in 
dignantly,  "  If  it  be  Friends'  creed  to  see  the  poor 
and  old  and  feeble  hurt  without  raising  a  hand,  let 
us  pray  to  be  saved  from  such  religion." 

"  But,"  said  Wholesome,  "  I  should  have  spoken 
to  him  in  kindness  first.  Now  I  have  only  made  of 
him  a  worse  beast,  and  taught  him  more  hatred. 
And  he  of  all  men !" 

"  There  is  much  salvation  in  some  mistakes,"  said 
Schmidt,  smiling. 

Just  then  we  were  stopped  by  two  middle-aged 


THEE  AND    YOU.  I2I 

Friends  in  drab  of  orthodox  tint,  from  which  now 
adays  Friends  have  much  fallen  away  into  gay 
browns.  They  asked  a  question  or  two  about  an 
insurance  on  one  of  our  ships ;  and  then  the  elder 
said,  "  Thy  hand  seems  bleeding,  Friend  Richard ;" 
which  was  true;  he  had  cut  his  knuckles  on  his  op 
ponent's  teeth,  and  around  them  had  hastily  wrapped 
a  handkerchief  which  showed  stains  of  blood  here 
and  there. 

"  Ach  !"  said  Schmidt,  hastening  to  save  his  friend 
annoyance.  "  He  ran  against  something.  And  how 
late  is  it !  Let  us  go." 

But  Wholesome,  who  would  have  no  man  lie  ever 
so  little  for  his  benefit,  said  quietly,  "  I  hurt  it  knock 
ing  a  man  down ;"  and  now  for  the  first  time  to-day 
I  observed  the  old  amused  look  steal  over  his  hand 
some  face  and  set  it  a-twitching  with  some  sense  of 
humor  as  he  saw  the  shock  which  went  over  the 
faces  of  the  two  elders  when  we  bade  them  good- 
morning  and  turned  away. 

Wholesome  walked  on  quickly,  and  as  it  seemed 
plain  that  he  would  be  alone,  we  dropped  behind. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?"  said  I.  "  Does  a  man  grieve 
thus  because  he  chastises  a  scoundrel  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Schmidt.  "  The  Friend  Wholesome 
was,  as  you  may  never  yet  know,  an  officer  of  the 
navy,  and  when  your  war  being  done  he  comes  here, 
there  is  a  beautiful  woman  whom  he  must  fall  to 
loving,  and  this  with  some  men  being  a  grave  disor 
der,  he  must  go  and  spoil  a  good  natural  man  with 
the  clothes  of  a  Quaker,  seeing  that  what  the  woman 
did  was  good  in  his  sight." 

F  II 


I22  THEE  AND    YOU. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  don't  understand." 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  yet  you  have  read  of  Eve  and 
Adam.  Sometimes  they  give  us  good  apples  and 
sometimes  bad.  This  was  a  russet,  as  it  were,  and  at 
times  the  apple  disagrees  with  him  for  that  with  the 
new  apple  he  got  not  a  new  stomach." 

I  laughed  a  little,  but  said,  "  This  is  not  all.  There 
was  something  between  him  and  the  man  he  struck 
which  we  do  not  yet  know.  Did  you  see  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  before  this, — last  week  some  time  in  the 
market-place.  He  was  looking  at  Old  Dinah's  tub 
of  white  lilies  when  I  noticed  him,  and  to  me  came 
a  curious  thinking  of  how  he  was  so  unlike  them, 
many  people  having  for  me  flower-likeness,  and  this 
man,  being  of  a  yellow  swarthiness  and  squat- 
browed,  minded  me  soon  of  the  toadstool  you  call  a 
corpse-light." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  know  some  time ;  but  here  is 
home,  and  will  he  speak  of  it  to  Mistress  White,  do 
you  think  ?" 

"  Not  ever,  I  suppose,"  said  Schmidt ;  and  we  went 
in. 

The  sight  we  saw  troubled  me.  In  the  little  back 
parlor,  at  a  round  mahogany  table  with  scrolled 
edges  and  claw  toes  sat  facing  the  light  Mistress 
White.  She  was  clad  in  a  gray  silk  with  tight 
sleeves,  and  her  profusion  of  rich  chestnut  hair,  with 
its  wilful  curliness  that  forbade  it  to  be  smooth  on 
her  temples,  was  coiled  in  a  great  knot  at  the  back 
of  her  head.  Its  double  tints  and  strange  change- 
fulness,  and  the  smooth  creamy  cheeks  with  their 
moving  islets  of  roses  that  would  come  and  go  at  a 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


123 


word,  were  pretty  protests  of  Nature,  I  used  to 
think,  against  the  demure  tints  of  her  pearl-gray 
silken  gown.  She  was  looking  out  into  the  garden, 
quite  heedless  of  the  older  dame,  who  sat  as  her 
wont  was  between  the  windows,  and  chirruped  now 
and  then,  mechanically,  "  Has  thee  a  four-leaved 
clover?"  As  I  learned  some  time  after,  one  of  our 
older  clerks,  perhaps  with  a  little  malice  of  self-com 
fort  at  the  fall  of  his  seniors  principles,  had,  on 
coming  home,  told  her  laughingly  all  the  story  of 
the  morning.  Perhaps  one  should  be  a  woman  and 
a  Friend  to  enter  into  her  feelings.  She  was  tied  by 
a  promise  and  by  a  sense  of  personal  pledge  to  a 
low  and  disgraced  man,  and  then  coming  to  love  an 
other  despite  herself  she  had  grown  greatly  to  honor 
him.  She  might  reason  as  she  would  that  only  a 
sense  of  right  and  a  yearning  for  the  fulness  of  a  right 
eous  life  had  made  him  give  up  his  profession  and 
fellows,  and  turn  aside  to  follow  the  harder  creed  of 
Fox,  but  she  well  knew  with  a  woman's  keenness  of 
view  that  she  herself  had  gone  for  something  in  this 
change;  and  now,  as  sometimes  before,  she  re 
proached  herself  with  his  failures.  As  we  came  in 
she  hastily  dried  her  eyes  and  went  out  of  the  room. 
At  dinner  little  was  said,  but  in  the  afternoon  there 
was  a  scene  of  which  I  came  to  know  all  a  good 
while  later. 

Some  of  us  had  gone  back  to  the  afternoon  work 
when  Mr.  Wholesome,  who  had  lingered  behind, 
strayed  thoughtfully  into  the  little  back  garden. 
There  under  a  thin-leaved  apricot  tree  sat  Mistress 
White,  very  pretty,  with  her  long  fair  fingers  clasped 


124 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


over  a  book  which  lay  face  down  on  her  lap.  Pres 
ently  she  was  aware  of  Richard  Wholesome  walking 
to  and  fro  and  smoking  a  long-stemmed  clay  pipe, 
then,  as  yet  in  England,  called  a  churchwarden. 
These  were  two  more  than  commonly  good-looking 
persons,  come  of  sturdy  English  stock,  fined  down 
by  that  in  this  climate  which  has  taken  the  coarse 
ness  of  line  and  feature  out  of  so  many  of  our 
broods,  and  has  made  more  than  one  English  painter 
regret  that  the  Vandyke  faces  had  crossed  the  ocean 
to  return  no  more. 

Schmidt  and  I  looked  out  a  moment  into  the  long 
vista  where,  between  the  rose-boughs  bending  from 
either  wall  under  the  apricot,  we  could  see  the  gray 
silvery  shimmer  of  the  woman's  dress,  and  beyond 
it,  passing  to  and  fro,  the  broad  shoulders  of  the  ex- 
captain. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  walk  down  with  me  to  the 
wharf." 

"  Yet  leave  me,"  he  returned.  "  I  shall  wisely  do 
to  sit  here  on  the  step  over  the  council-fire  of  my 
pipe.  Besides,  when  there  are  not  markets  and  flow 
ers,  and  only  a  strait-down,  early-afternoon  sun,  I 
shall  find  it  a  more  noble  usage  of  time  to  see  of  my 
drama  another  scene.  The  actors  are  good ;"  and 
he  pointed  with  his  pipe-stem  down  to  the  garden. 
"And  this,"  he  said,  "is  the  mute  chorus  of  the 
play,"  indicating  a  kitten  which  had  made  prey  of 
the  grand-dame's  ball  of  worsted,  and  was  rolling  it 
here  and  there  with  delight. 

"  But,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  not  right  or  decent  to 
spy  upon  others'  actions." 


THEE  AND    YOU,  i2$ 

"For  right!"  he  said.  "Ach!  what  I  find  right 
to  me  is  my  right ;  and  for  decent,  I  understand  you 
not.  But  if  I  tell  you  what  is  true,  I  find  my  pleas 
ure  to  sit  here  and  see  the  maiden  when  at  times  the 
winds  pull  up  the  curtain  of  the  leaves." 

"  Well !  well !"  said  I,  for  most  of  the  time  he  was 
not  altogether  plain  as  to  what  he  meant,  as  when  he 
spoke  of  the  cat  as  a  chorus.  "  Well !  well !  you 
will  go  out  with  me  on  the  water  at  sundown  ?" 

"  That  may  be,"  he  answered ;  and  I  went  away. 

I  have  observed  since  then,  in  the  long  life  I  have 
lived,  that  the  passion  called  love,  when  it  is  a  hope 
less  one,  acts  on  men  as  ferments  do  on  fluids  after 
their  kind, — turning  some  to  honest  wine  and  some  to 
vinegar.  With  our  stout  little  German  all  trials  seemed 
to  be  of  the  former  use,  so  that  he  took  no  ill  from 
those  hurts  and  bruises  which  leave  other  men  sore 
and  tender.  Indeed,  he  talked  of  Mistress  White  to 
me,  or  even  to  Wholesome,  whom  he  much  embar 
rassed,  in  a  calm,  half-amused  way,  as  of  a  venture 
which  he  had  made,  and,  having  failed,  found  it  pleas 
ant  to  look  back  upon  as  an  experience  not  altogether 
to  be  regretted.  We  none  of  us  knew  until  much 
later  that  it  was  more  than  a  mere  fancy  for  a  woman 
who  was  altogether  so  sweet  and  winsome  that  no  man 
needed  an  excuse  for  loving  her.  When  by  and  by  I 
also  came  to  love  a  good  woman,  I  used  to  try  myself 
by  the  measure  of  this  man's  lack  of  self-love,  and  won 
der  how  he  could  have  seen  with  good-will  the  woman 
he  cared  for  come  to  like  another  man  better.  This 
utter  sweetness  of  soul  has  ever  been  to  me  a  riddle. 

An  hour  passed  by,  when  Schmidt  heard  a  footfall 


I26  THEE  AND    YOU. 

in  the  room  behind  him,  and  rising  saw  an  old  mem 
ber  of  the  Society  of  Friends  who  came  at  times  to 
our  house,  and  was  indeed  trustee  of  a  small  estate 
which  belonged  to  Mistress  White.  Nicholas  Old- 
mixon  was  an  overseer  in  the  Fourth  Street  meeting, 
and  much  looked  up  to  among  Friends  as  a  prompt 
and  vigilant  guardian  of  their  discipline.  Perhaps 
he  would  have  been  surprised  to  be  told  that  he  had 
that  in  his  nature  which  made  the  post  of  official 
fault-finder  agreeable ;  but  so  it  was,  I  fancy,  and  he 
was  here  on  such  an  errand.  The  asceticism  of 
Friends  in  those  days,  and  the  extent  to  which  Mr. 
Oldmixon,  like  the  more  strict  of  his  sect,  carried 
his  views  as  to  gravity  of  manner  and  the  absence 
of  color  in  dress  and  furniture,  were  especially  hate 
ful  to  Schmidt,  who  lived  and  was  happy  in  a  region 
of  color  and  sentiment  and  gayety.  Both,  I  doubt 
not,  were  good  men,  but  each  was  by  nature  and 
training  altogether  unable  to  sympathize  with  the 
other. 

"  Good-evening !"  said  Schmidt,  keeping  his  seat 
in  the  low  window-sill. 

Mr.  Oldmixon  returned,  "Thee  is  well,  I  trust?" 

"  Ach  !  with  such  a  sun  and  the  last  roses,  which 
seem  the  most  sweet,  and  these  most  lovely  of  fall- 
flowers,  and  a  good  book  and  a  pipe,"  said  Schmidt, 
"  who  will  not  be  well  ?  Have  you  the  honest  bless 
ing  of  being  a  smoker?" 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Quaker,  with  evident  guarding  of 
his  words.  "  Thee  will  not  take  it  amiss  should  I 
say  it  is  a  vain  waste  of  time  ?" 

"  But,"  answered  Schmidt,  "  time  hath  many  uses. 


THEE  AND    YOU.  I2/ 

The  one  is  to  be  wasted ;  and  this  a  pipe  mightily 
helps.  I  did  think  once,  when  I  went  to  meeting1, 
how  much  more  solemn  it  would  be  for  each  man  to 
have  a  pipe  to  excuse  his  silence." 

"  Thee  jests  idly,  I  fear,"  said  the  Friend,  coloring, 
and  evidently  holding  himself  in  check.  "  Is  that 
friend  Wholesome  in  the  garden  ?  I  have  need  to 
see  him." 

"  Yea,"  said  Schmidt,  with  a  broad  smile,  "  he  is 
yonder  under  a  tree,  like  Adam  in  the  garden.  Let 
us  take  a  peep  at  Paradise." 

Mr.  Oldmixon  held  his  peace,  and  walked  quietly 
out  of  the  window  and  down  the  gravelled  path. 
There  were  some  who  surmised  that  his  years  and 
his  remembrance  of  the  three  wives  he  had  outlived 
did  not  altogether  suffice  to  put  away  from  him  a 
strong  sentiment  of  the  sweetness  of  his  ward.  Per 
haps  it  was  this  notion  which  lit  up  with  mirth  the 
ruddy  face  of  the  German  as  he  walked  down  the 
garden  behind  the  slim  ascetic  figure  of  the  overseer 
of  meeting  in  his  broad  hat  and  drab  clothes.  On 
the  way  the  German  plucked  a  dozen  scarlet  roses,  a 
late  geranium  or  two,  and  a  few  leaves  of  motley 
Poinsetta. 

Wholesome  paused  a  moment  to  greet  the  new 
comer  quietly,  and  straightway  betook  himself  ab 
sently  to  his  walk  again  to  and  fro  across  the  garden. 
Mistress  White  would  have  had  the  old  overseer 
take  her  seat,  but  this  he  would  not  do.  He  stood 
a  moment  near  her,  as  if  irresolute,  while  Schmidt 
threw  himself  down  on  the  sward,  and,  half  turning 
over,  tossed  roses  into  the  gray  lap  of  Mistress 


I28  THEE  AND    YOU. 

White,  saying,  "  How  prettily  the  God  of  heaven  has 
dressed  them  !" 

Mistress  White  took  up  the  flowers,  not  answering 
the  challenge,  but  glancing  under  her  long  lashes  at 
the  ex-captain,  to  whom  presently  the  overseer  turned, 
saying,  "  Would  thee  give  me  a  word  or  two  with  thee 
by  ourselves,  Richard?" 

"  There  are  none  in  the  parlor,"  said  Priscilla,  "  if 
thee  will  talk  there." 

"  If,"  said  WJholesome,  "  it  be  of  business,  let  it 
wait  till  to-morrow,  and  I  will  call  upon  thee :  I  am 
not  altogether  myself  to-day." 

"  Nay,"  said  Nicholas,  gathering  himself  up  a  little, 
"  thee  must  know  theeself  that  I  would  not  come  to 
thee  here  for  business :  thee  knows  my  exactness  in 
such  matters." 

"  And  for  what,  then,  are  you  come  ?"  said  Whole 
some,  with  unusual  abruptness. 

"  For  speech  of  that  in  thy  conduct  which  were 
better,  as  between  an  elder  Friend  and  a  younger, 
to  be  talked  over  alone,"  said  Mr.  Oldmixon,  se 
verely. 

Now,  Wholesome,  though  disgusted  by  his  lack 
of  power  to  keep  the  silent  pledges  he  had  given 
when  he  entered  the  Society  of  Friends,  was  not 
dissatisfied  with  his  conduct  as  judged  by  his  own 
standard  of  right.  Moreover,  like  many  warm 
hearted  people,  he  was  quick  of  temper,  as  we  have 
seen.  His  face  flushed,  and  he  paused  beside  the 
overseer :  "  There  are  none  here  who  do  not  know 
most  of  what  passed  this  morning ;  but  as  you  do 
not  know  all,  let  me  advise  you  to  hold  your  peace 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


I29 


and  go  your  ways,  and  leave  me  to  such  reproach  as 
God  may  send  me." 

"  If  that  God  send  thee  any,"  muttered  Schmidt. 

But  Nicholas  Oldmixon  was  like  a  war-horse 
smelling  the  battle  afar  off,  and  anything  like  resist 
ance  to  an  overseer  in  the  way  of  duty  roused  him 
into  the  sternness  which  by  no  means  belonged  to 
the  office,  but  rather  to  the  man.  "  If,"  he  said, 
"  any  in  membership  with  us  do  countenance  or  pro 
mote  tumults,  they  shall  be  dealt  with  as  disorderly 
persons.  Wherefore  did  thee  give  way  to  rash  vio 
lence  this  morning?" 

Priscilla  grew  pale.  "  I  think,"  she  said,  "  Friend 
Nicholas,  thee  forgets  the  Christian  courtesy  of  our 
people  one  to  another.  Let  it  rest  a  while ;  friend 
Richard  may  come  to  think  better  of  it  by  and  by." 

"And  that  I  trust  he  may  never,"  muttered  Schmidt. 

But  the  overseer  was  not  to  be  stayed.  "  Thee 
would  do  better  to  mind  the  things  of  thy  house  and 
leave  us,"  he  said.  "  The  ways  of  this  young  man 
have  been  more  than  once  a  scandal,  and  are  like  to 
come  before  the  meeting  to  be  dealt  with." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Wholesome,  approaching  him  and 
quite  forgetting  his  plain  speech  to  make  it  plainer, 
"  your  manners  do  little  credit  to  your  age  or  your 
place.  Listen :  I  told  you  to  speak  no  more  of  this 
matter;"  and  he  seized  him  by  the  lappel  of  his  coat 
and  drew  him  aside  a  few  paces.  "  For  your  own  sake, 
I  mean.  Let  it  die  out,  with  no  more  of  talk  or 
nonsense." 

"  For  my  sake  1"  exclaimed  the  overseer ;  "  and 
why  ?  Most  surely  thee  forgets  theeself." 


1 3o 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


"  For  your  own  sake,"  said  Wholesome,  drawing 
him  still  farther  away,  and  bending  toward  him,  so 
that  his  words  were  lost  to  Schmidt  and  Priscilla, 
"  and  for  your  son  John's.  It  was  he  whom  I  struck 
to-day." 

Mr.  Oldmixon  grew  white  and  staggered  as  if 
stricken.  "  Why  did  thee  not  come  and  tell  me  ?" 
he  said.  "  It  had  been  kinder ;  and  where  is  that 
unhappy  man?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  returned  Wholesome. 

"  Nevertheless,  be  it  he  or  another,  thee  was  in  the 
wrong,  and  I  have  done  my  duty.  And  is  my  un 
happy  son  yet  alive  ?"  and  so  saying,  he  turned  away, 
and  without  other  words  walked  through  the  house 
with  uncertain  steps  and  went  down  the  street,  while 
Wholesome,  with  softened  face,  watched  him  from 
the  doorstep.  Then  he  went  back  quietly  into  the 
garden,  and  turning  to  Schmidt,  said,  "  Will  you 
oblige  me  by  leaving  me  with  Mistress  White?  I 
will  explain  to  thee  by  and  by." 

Schmidt  looked  up  surprised,  but  seeing  how  pale 
and  stern  he  looked,  rose  and  went  into  the  house. 
The  woman  turned  expectant. 

"  Priscilla,  the  time  has  come  when  thee  must 
choose  between  me  and  him." 

"  He  has  come  back  ?  I  always  knew  he  would 
come." 

"  Yes,  he  has  come  back ;  I  saw  him  to-day,"  said 
Wholesome,  "  and  the  John  Oldmixon  of  to-day  is 
more  than  ever  cruel  and  brutal.  Will  thee  trust  me 
to  make  thee  believe  that?" 

"  I  believe  thee,"  she  returned ;  "  but  because  he  is 


THEE  AND    YOU.  j^I 

this  and  worse,  shall  I  forget  my  word  or  turn  aside 
from  that  which,  if  bitter  for  me,  may  save  his  soul 
alive?" 

"  And  yet  you  love  me  ?" 

"  Have  I  not  said  so  ?"  she  murmured,  with  a  half 
smile. 

The  young  man  came  closer  and  seized  both  hands 
in  his :  "  Will  it  not  be  a  greater  sin,  loving  me,  to 
marry  him  ?" 

"  But  he  may  never  ask  me,  and  then  I  shall  wait, 
for  I  had  better  die  fit  in  soul  to  be  thy  wife  than 
come  to  thee  unworthy  of  a  good  man's  love." 

He  dropped  her  hands  and  moved  slowly  away, 
she  watching  him  with  full  eyes.  Then  he  turned  and 
said,  "But  should  he  fall — fall  as  he  must — and  come 
to  be  what  his  life  will  surely  make  him,  a  felon  whom 
no  woman  could  marry " 

"Thee  makes  duty  hard  for  me,  Richard,"  she 
answered.  "  Do  not  make  me  think  thee  cruel. 
When  in  God's  good  time  he  shall  send  me  back  the 
words  of  promise  I  wrote  when  he  went  away  a  dis 
graced  man,  to  whom,  nevertheless,  I  owed  my  life, 

then Oh,  Richard,  I  love  thee !  Do  not  hurt 

me.  Pray  for  me  and  him." 

"  God  help  us  !"  he  said.  "  We  have  great  need  to 
be  helped ;"  and  suddenly  leaning  over  he  kissed  her 
forehead  for  the  first  time,  and  went  away  up  the  gar 
den  and  into  the  house. 

The  soft  September  days  were  past,  and  the  crisp 
October  freshness  was  with  us  before  my  little  drama 
went  a  step  further.  Wholesome  had  got  into  a 
fashion  of  seeking  loneliness,  and  thus  Schmidt  and 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

I  were  more  than  ever  thrown  together.  So  it  came 
that  on  a  Saturday, — which  to  me,  a  somewhat  priv 
ileged  person  in  the  counting-house,  was  always  a 
half-holiday, — and  on  Sunday  afternoon,  if  I  went 
not  to  Christ  Church,  we  were  wont  to  wander  at 
will  about  the  lovely  country  along  the  Schuylkill  or 
up  the  Wissahickon  talking  of  many  things.  Nor 
did  Schmidt  ever  tire  of  the  crowded  market-place, 
and  although  in  our  walks  he  talked  of  what  he  saw 
there  and  elsewhere  as  with  a  child's  pleasure  in  his 
own  thoughts  and  words,  they  never  wearied  me. 
To  many  he  was  more  odd  than  pleasant,  because  on 
all  subjects  and  at  all  times  he  turned  himself  inside 
out,  with  little  regard  to  what  he  had  to  say  or  who 
heard  him.  I  recall  well  some  of  our  morning 
strolls. 

"  Let  us  walk  serenely,"  he  said.  (I  suppose  he 
meant  slowly  enough  to  think.)  "  The  Wholesome 
goes  before,  and  with  what  a  liberal  strength  he 
walks  !  How  beautiful  to  see  !  As  if  he  would  give 
away  his  legs  when  he  walks,  so  much  is  there  of 
strength  he  needs  not  in  the  Quaker  life." 

"  I  cannot  see  yet,"  I  said,  "  why  he  must  turn 
Quaker.  I  would  have  trusted  that  man  with  untold 
gold  or  a  woman's  honor  the  first  half-hour  he  talked 
to  me." 

"  I  like  not  that  sect,"  returned  Schmidt.  "  It  does 
make  nicer  women  than  men.  Should  there  be  two 
religions  for  the  two  sexes  ?  and  do  you  think  ever 
Penn  and  Mr.  Fox  did  take  among  the  women  a 
vote  when  they  went  to  the  queerness  of  robe  which 
is  theirs  ?" 


THEE  AND    YOU.  133 

"  I  have  heard,"  I  said,  "  that  it  is  only  a  continu 
ance  of  the  plainer  fashions  of  their  own  time." 

"  And  why,"  he  said,  "  should  to-day  wear  the 
garments  of  a  century  away?  And  does  not  Nature 
mock  their  foolish  customs  ?  Even  now  behold  how 
pretty  a  sight  is  this."  And  he  paused  before  a  stall 
where  the  ripe  Spanish  watermelons  split  into  halves 
showed  their  gorgeous  red.  "  How  spendthrift  is 
Nature  of  her  tints.!  and  in  the  peach-time  there  is  a 
pleasure  to  eat  of  this  scarlet!  I  thought  it  so  pretty 
last  week  when  we  dined  with  Mr.  Wilton, — the  red 
melons  on  the  shining  brown  mahogany,  and  the 
gray-greens  of  the  apples,  and  the  Heath  peaches, 
soft  and  rosy,  with  the  ruby  of  the  madeira  wine. 
How  charming  a  thing  is  a  table  after  dinner  what 
few  do  ever  think  !" 

"  Stop  !"  I  said  :  "  look  there  !"  A  little  way  be 
fore  us,  in  simple  tints  of  gray  serge,  and  with  rebel 
curls  peeping  out  under  her  stiff,  ugly  silk  bonnet, 
Priscilla  was  moving  down  the  market.  She  was 
busy  with  her  daily  marketing,  and  behind  or  beside 
her  was  our  old  brown  Nancy,  trim  and  cleanly,  with 
her  half-filled  basket.  A  few  steps  in  the  rear  was  a 
man  who  paused  and  held  back  as  she  stopped,  and 
then  went  on.  As  I  caught  his  side  face  and  hungry 
eyes,  and  a  certain  hyena-like  swiftness  of  impatient 
movement,  I  knew  him  for  the  man  whom  Whole 
some  had  struck  on  the  wharf  a  few  weeks  before. 
Now  he  was  clad  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  with 
striped  silken  hose,  tight  nankeen  breeches,  a  brown 
swallow-tailed  coat,  and  an  ample  cambric  cravat. 
The. bright  brass  buttons  were  new,  the  beaver  hat, 

12 


134 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


scroll-rimmed  and  broad  on  top,  was  faultlessly 
brushed. 

"  Ach  !"  said  Schmidt,  "  a  devil  which  is  handsome 
for  little  of  good !  The  plainer  parent  must  have 
been  made  to  be  liberal  of  money  to  plume  the  fine 
bird." 

Just  then  the  man  looked  round,  and,  Whole 
some  being  gone  on  ahead,  and  seeing  no  one  he 
knew,  he  paused  beside  Priscilla  and  spoke  to  her. 
What  he  said  we  did  not  hear.  She  turned,  a  little 
startled,  and  dropped  her  purse.  The  man  set  his 
foot  on  it,  and  stooping  as  if  to  look  for  it,  deftly 
picked  it  up  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

I  started  forward. 

"  Nay,"  said  Schmidt,  "  the  audience  shall  not 
spoil  the  play.  Wait." 

Her  face  grew  pale,  and  I  at  least  thought  she  saw 
but  would  not  notice  the  mean  theft.  A  few  brief 
words  passed  between  them.  He  asked  something, 
and  she  hesitated,  I  thought.  Then  a  few  more 
words,  and  as  we  went  by  I  heard  her  say  something 
about  the  afternoon,  and  then  with  a  word  more  he 
turned  and  left  her. 

"  Alsp,"  said  Schmidt,  "  the  plot  thickens.  How 
handsome  and  foul  he  is,  with  that  visage  clean 
shaven  and  the  nose  of  hawk !  We  shall  see  when 
all  the  performers  are  come  upon  the  stage.  Good- 
by !  I  go  to  see  if  further  he  will  amuse  me." 

For  my  part,  bewildered  at  Priscilla's  knowledge 
of  this  ruffian,  astonished  at  his  gay  change  of  dress, 
and  recalling  his  emotion  on  the  wharf,  I  also  began 
to  feel  an  interest  in  the  drama  going  on  about  me. 


THEE  AND    YOU.  135 

After  dinner  next  day,  when  her  guests  save  myself 
had  gone  away  to  their  several  tasks,  Mistress  Pris- 
cilla  in  the  garden  grew  busy  among  the  roses  with 
the  dead  leaves  and  the  bugs.  A  very  pretty  picture 
she  made,  and  if  I  had  been  a  painter  it  is  thus  I  should 
have  wished  to  paint  her.  Against  the  wall  of  dark- 
red  brick  the  long  bending  rose-branches  made  a  bri 
ery  hedge  of  green  and  leafy  curves,  flecked  here  and 
there  with  roses  red,  white,  and  pink;  and  against 
this  background  there  was  the  charming  outline  of 
Priscilla  in  ashen-tinted  silk,  with  a  fine  cambric  hand 
kerchief  about  her  throat,  and  a  paler  silk  kerchief 
pinned  away  from  the  neck  on  the  shoulders,  much  as 
Friends  wear  them  still.  A  frail  pretence  of  a  cap 
there  was  also,  and  wicked  double  tints  of  hair  the 
color  of  chestnuts  and  dead  leaves  and  buttonwood 
bark  and  such  other  pretty  uncertain  tints  as  have 
stored  away  a  wealth  of  summer  sun.  Now  and  then 
she  was  up  on  tiptoe  to  pluck  a  rose  or  break  off  a 
dead  stem,  and  then  the  full  ripe  curves  of  her  figure 
were  charming  to  see.  And  so,  like  a  gray  butterfly, 
she  flitted  round  the  garden-wall,  and  presently,  quite 
in  a  natural  way,  came  upon  me  demurely  reading. 

"  Thee  should  be  up  and  away  to  thy  business, 
friend  loiterer,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  I  shall  stay  at  home  this  afternoon,"  I 
answered,  giving  no  reason. 

I  saw  she  looked  troubled,  but  in  a  moment  she 
added,  "  Not  if  I  wanted  thee  to  do  an  errand  for  me 
in  Front  Street." 

"  I  have  a  bone  in  my  foot,"  said  I,  recalling  one 
of  our  boy  excuses  for  laziness. 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

"  But  I  would  pay  thee  with  a  rose  and  some 
thanks,"  she  returned,  laughing. 

"  No  doubt  that  would  pay  some  folks,  but  I  am 
not  to  be  bribed.  If  I  were  older  it  might  answer; 
but  as  I  am  only  a  boy,  I  may  tell  you  how  pretty 
you  look  among  the  roses.  And  I  think  you  are 
dressed  for  company  this  afternoon." 

"  Thee  is  a  very  saucy  lad,"  she  replied,  half 
troubled,  half  smiling,  "and — and — I  must  tell  thee, 
I  suppose,  that  I  am  looking  for  a  friend  to  come 
on  a  business  of  mine,  and  I  shall  like  thee  better 
if  thee  will  go  away  to-day,  because " 

"  Because  why?"  I  said. 

"  Because  I  ask  thee  to  go." 

At  this  moment,  as  I  rose  to  obey  her,  laughing 
and  saying,  "  But  will  you  not  tell  me  his  name  ?" 
Schmidt  appeared  in  the  window. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  smiling  his  pleased,  quiet  smile, 
which  rarely  grew  into  noisy  mirth,  "  we  masquerade 
of  this  pleasant  afternoon  as  a  queen  of  pearls.  You 
would  have  lacked  some  one  to  admire  you  were  I 
not  come  back  so  good  luckily  now." 

Priscilla  blushed,  but  said  quickly,  "  This  lazy  boy 
has  been  saying  much  the  same  things.  Ah !"  and 
she  looked  worried  of  a  sudden  as  the  knocker 
sounded.  "  There  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  some  one  is 
coming  to  see  me — on  business.  Please  to  leave  me 
the  parlor." 

"Ah,  well!"  said  Schmidt,  smiling,  "we  will  go;' 
and  he  turned  to  enter  the  house. 

"  But  not  that  way,"  she  said  hastily.  "  I — I  am 
in  trouble :  I  do  not  want  you  to  see —  I  mean — 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


137 


please  to  go  out  by  the  garden-gate :  I  will  explain 
another  time." 

Schmidt  looked  surprised,  but,  taking  my  arm,  went 
without  more  words  down  the  garden,  saying  in  my 
ear,  in  his  queer  jerky  way,  "  Hast  thou  ever  seen 
what  a  smear  the  slimy  slug  will  make  on  the  rose- 
leaf?" 

I  said,  "  I  do  not  understand." 

"  But  God  does,  my  lad  ;  and  when  thy  rose  comes, 
pray  that  there  be  no  vile  slugs  afoot." 

From  that  evening  we  all  noticed  a  sad  change  in 
Priscilla.  The  gay  sallies  and  coquetry  which  had 
defied  all  bonds  were  gone,  and  she  went  about  her 
needed  household  work  silent,  preoccupied,  and  pale. 
The  greatest  charm  of  this  woman  was  in  her  pretty 
little  revolts  against  Quaker  ways,  and  her  endless 
sympathy  with  everybody's  tastes  and  pursuits  ;  but 
now  she  was  utterly  changed,  until  all  of  us  who  loved 
her,  as  friend  or  as  more  than  friend,  began  to  notice 
her  sadness  and  to  question  among  ourselves  as  to 
its  cause. 

It  soon  grew  to  be  known  among  us  that  in  the 
afternoons  Priscilla  had  meetings  at  home  with  a 
stranger,  and  we  observed  also  that  Wholesome  had 
become  silent  and  abstracted.  This  was  a  source 
of  some  amusement  to  our  little  company  of  India 
clerks  and  supercargoes,  who  laid  it  to  the  fact  that 
Wholesome's  sad  conduct  having  been  brought  to 
the  consideration  of  the  monthly  meeting,  the  over 
seers  had  waited  upon  him  and  wasted  much  time  in 
fruitless  admonitions,  the  ex-captain  proving  quite 
unable  to  see  that  he  had  acted  otherwise  than  be- 

12* 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

came  a  God-fearing  man.  I  suspect  this  treason  to 
the  creed  of  Friends  sat  easy  on  him,  and  graver  by 
far  were  the  other  questions  which  beset  him  on 
every  side. 

At  last,  one  afternoon  early  in  October,  Wholesome 
had  started  a  little  late  for  the  counting-house,  when, 
as  we  passed  down  Arch  Street  near  Fifth,  he  suddenly 
stopped  and  said,  "  I  must  go  back.  This  thing  has 
gone  on  long  enough.  A  man  must  put  his  hand  in 
the  business." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  I,  surprised  at  the  sternness  of 
his  manner. 

"  Do  you  see  that  person?"  he  replied,  pointing  to 
a  fashionably-dressed  gentleman  on  the  far  side  of 
the  way,  going  up  the  street  with  a  certain  leisurely 
swagger.  It  was  the  man  he  had  struck  on  the 
wharf,  and  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  market-place. 

I  said,  "  Yes,  I  see  him.  What  do  you  mean  to 
do?" 

"  No  matter.  I  am  going  home  :  I  have  stood  this 
long  enough." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"  Kill  him,"  said  Wholesome,  quietly. 

I  was  at  once  shocked,  alarmed,  and  a  little  amused, 
it  seemed  so  incongruous  a  threat  from  a  man  in  drab 
and  broad-brim.  But  I  had  the  sense  to  try  to  dis 
suade  him  from  returning  as  we  stood  under  the 
lindens,  he  cool  and  quiet,  I  anxious  and  troubled, 
as  any  man  so  young  would  have  been.  At  last  he 
broke  away,  saying,  "  I  am  going  home.  You  need 
not  come.  I  do  not  want  you." 

"  If  you  go  back,"  I  said,  "  I  go  also." 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


139 


"  As  you  please,"  he  returned  ;  and  we  went  swiftly 
homeward,  without  a  word  on  either  side. 

Since  then  I  have  seen  on  the  stage  many  and 
curious  scenes,  but  none  more  dramatic  than  that  on 
which  the  curtain  rose  at  four  o'clock  on  this  pleas 
ant  October  evening. 

Wholesome,  pale,  cold-visaged,  handsome,  opened 
the  door  as  if  his  being  there  were  a  matter  of  course, 
and  walked  into  the  back  parlor.  Between  the  win 
dows,  as  usual,  sat  the  older  dame,  of  no  more  mortal 
consequence  than  a  clock.  On  the  window-step  we 
saw  Priscilla,  and  as  we  passed  out  of  the  nearer 
window  into  the  garden,  I  observed  our  dark-visaged 
friend  leaning  against  the  window-jamb  and  talking 
earnestly  to  her. 

She  rose  up,  a  little  flurried  and  anxious,  saying, 
"  Perhaps  thee  remembers  John  Oldmixon,  Richard  ? 
And  these  are  Richard  Wholesome  and  a  new  friend, 
Henry  Shelburne." 

As  she  spoke  she  scanned  furtively  and  with  a 
certain  uneasiness  the  two  strongly-contrasted  faces. 
Neither  man  put  out  his  hand,  but  Wholesome  said, 
"  Yes,  I  remember  him,  and  well  enough.  He  has 
not  changed,  I  think;"  and  as  he  ended,  his  glance 
rose  to  meet  the  darker  eyes  of  his  foe.  If  will  to 
hurt  had  been  power  to  slay  with  the  look  which 
followed  this  silent  challenge,  there  would  have  been 
a  dead  man  at  Priscilla's  feet.  John  Oldmixon  must 
have  been  well  used  to  the  eye  of  hate. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  we  have  shifted  parts  like  men 
in  a  play  I  once  saw.  I  went  away  a  Quaker,  and 
am  come  back  a  man  of  the  world :  you  went  away 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

a  gay  midshipman,  and  here  you  are  a  Friend  in 
drab." 

"  Yes,  a  Friend,"  said  Priscilla,  quickly,  lifting  her 
eyes  to  Wholesome's  with  mute  pleading  in  their 
fulness. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  desirous  to  turn  the  talk  from 
what  seemed  to  me  dangerous  ground, — "  I  suppose 
there  is  no  rule  about  Friends'  dress,  is  there  ?  Who 
sets  the  fashions  for  Friends  ?" 

"  There  are  none,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Like  the 
flowers  of  the  field  and  the  trees,  our  dress  is  ever 
the  same." 

"  Ah,"  said  Wholesome,  who  was  getting  his  pas 
sion  well  in  hand,  "  I  think  thee  will  see  some  new 
fall  patterns  in  the  leaves  overhead,  Priscilla.  Thee 
has  given  us  a  weak  example  for  Friends." 

"It  has  little  beauty,"  said  Oldmixon,  "this  Friends' 
dress,  but  it  may  have  its  use,  for  all  that.  For  in 
stance,  no  one  would  insult  or  strike  a  man  in  drab, 
however  great  the  provocation  he  might  give.  It  is 
as  good  as  chain-armor." 

"  Why  not  ?"  replied  Wholesome,  flushing.  "  A 
man  may  be  a  man,  whatever  his  garb,  and  I,  for  one, 
should  feel  as  free  to  chastise  a  scoundrel  to-day  as 
ten  years  ago,  and  as  ready  to  answer  him." 

"  Oh,  Richard  !    Richard  !    thee  forgets  !" 

"  True,"  he  said,  "  I  did.  I  forgot  you.  Pardon 
me!" 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  brag  in  drab,"  returned  Oldmixon. 
"  That's  another  of  its  uses.  But  that  concerns  no 
one  here.  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow,  Priscilla  ?" 

The  last  insult  quieted  Wholesome,  as  such  things 


THEE   AND    YOU.  141 

do  quiet  some  men.  He  made  no  answer,  but  smiled 
and  went  away  down  the  garden  whistling, — a  thing 
I  had  never  heard  him  do  before, — while  Priscilla 
said  in  a  half  whisper,  "  No,  not  to-morrow.  How 
can  thee  find  it  pleasing  to  annoy  my  friends?  Does 
thee  think  that  a  thing  I  should  like?" 

"  He  is  not  my  friend,"  replied  the  man,  brutally, 
and  losing  his  temper  as  easily  with  the  woman  as 
he  had  kept  it  with  the  man.  "  Folks  who  masquer 
ade  in  Quaker  clothes  need  to  be  taught  lessons 
sometimes/' 

"Thee  forgets  thyself,"  said  Priscilla.  "Think  a 
little,  and  take  back  thee  words." 

"  Not  I,"  said  he,  sneeringly.  "  A  fellow  like  that 
wants  a  teacher  at  times." 

Priscilla  was  a  woman,  and  the  man  thus  jeered  at 
was  out  of  earshot,  and  she  loved  him  ;  so  for  once 
her  creed  and  temper  alike  failed  her,  and  she  said 
proudly,  "  I  hear  it  is  thee  rather  that  has  been  to 
school  to  him,  and  did  not  like  thee  lesson." 

"  By  Heaven  !"  said  he,  angrily,  "  you  are  no  better 
Quaker  than  he  !  I  hope  my  wife  will  have  better 
manners."  He  flushed  with  shame  and  with  wrath 
at  thus  coming  to  learn  that  Priscilla  knew  of  his 
humiliation.  "  Good-by !"  he  said,  and  turned  to 
leave. 

But  Priscilla  was  herself  again.  "  I  beg  of  thee  do 
not  go  in  anger,"  she  said.  "  I  was  wrong :  pardon 
me !" 

"  Not  I,"  he  returned.  "  Think  a  little  next  time 
before  you  speak." 

"  John !"  she  said,  reproachfully,  but  he  was  gone. 


I42  THEE  AND    YOU. 

As  he  went  I  saw  Wholesome  pass  quietly  out  of 
the  garden-gate,  and  surmising  that  he  had  gone  to 
meet  Oldmixon,  and  not  knowing  what  might  come 
of  it,  I  made  some  excuse,  and  leaving  Priscilla  pale 
and  shaken,  I  followed  by  the  front  door. 

I  was  right.  As  Oldmixon  crossed  Second  Street, 
I  walking  behind  him,  Wholesome  came  out  of  a 
side  lane  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  There 
was  no  woman  now,  and  both  men  came  out  in  their 
true  colors. 

Oldmixon  turned.  He  looked  uneasy,  and,  I 
thought,  scared.  "  What  do  you  want?"  he  said. 

Wholesome  turned  to  me :  "  This  is  no  business 
of  yours  :  leave  us,  Shelburne." 

"  Not  now,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  as  you  please ;  but  step  out  of  earshot.  I 
have  something  to  say  to  this  man  which  concerns 
only  him  and  me." 

Upon  this  I  walked  away,  but  as  their  voices  rose 
I  caught  enough  to  surprise  me. 

Wholesome  spoke  to  him  quietly  for  several  min 
utes.  Then  Oldmixon  replied  aloud,  "  And  if  I  say 
no?" 

"  Then,"  said  Wholesome,  also  raising  his  voice, 
"  I  will  tell  her  all." 

"And  what  good  will  it  do?"  answered  the  other, 
angrily.  "Do  you  think  I  will  release  her?  and  do 
you  think  she  will  lie  while  I  carry  this  ?"  and  he 
touched  his  breast-pocket.  "  She  may  never  marry 
me,  but  you,  at  least,  will  be  no  better  off  It  will 
only  be  said  you  told  a  pretty  story,  thinking  to 
compass  your  own  ends." 


THEE  AND    YOU.  143 

Almost  without  knowing  it  I  drew  nearer,  unnoted 
by  the  two  angry  men. 

"  Yet  I  will  do  it,"  said  Wholesome. 

"  You  little  know  her :  tell  her  and  try  it,"  said  the 
other. 

Wholesome  paused.  Then  he  said,  "  I  believe  you 
are  right,  or  let  us  suppose  you  so.  What  is  to  stop 
me  from  delivering  you  to  justice  to-morrow, — to 
day  ?" 

The  other  smiled :  "Just  because,  if  you  feel  sure 
this  woman  will  marry  me,  you  love  her  too  well  to 
damn  her  husband  quite  utterly." 

Wholesome  laughed  hoarsely,  and  said,  "  Don't 
count  on  my  goodness  in  that  kind  of  fashion.  By 
Heaven !  you  have  been  nearer  death  within  this  last 
week  or  two  than  you  dream  of;  and  I  should  no 
more  think  twice  about  the  lesser  business  of  putting 
you  out  of  the  way  of  soiling  better  lives  than  about 
crushing  a  cockroach." 

Oldmixon  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  no  doubt 
made  the  reflection  that  had  he  meant  to  act  he 
would  have  done  so  without  warning.  His  face  lit 
up  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak.  Then  he  changed 
his  purpose,  was  silent  a  moment,  and  said,  "  Richard 
Wholesome,  there  has  been  enough  bad  blood  be 
tween  me  and  you  already.  Let  it  stop  here.  This 
woman  is  out  of  your  reach,  and  always  will  be  while 
I  live.  For  her  sake  let  us  be  at  peace." 

"  Peace  !"  said  Wholesome.  "  You  would  not  be 
lieve  it  if  I  were  to  say  that  if  she  loved  you,  and 
you  were  any  way  worth  loving,  I  would  help  you 
to  marry  her  and  go  away  not  quite  unhappy.  But 


144 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


now," — and  his  scorn  grew  uncontrollable, — "  now,  to 
talk  of  peace, — peace  with  a  cur,  with  a  creature  who 
holds  a  pure  woman  by  a  girl's  promise  which  he 
treats  as  a  business  contract, — peace  with  a  man  who 
trades  on  a  woman's  hope  that  she  can  drag  him  out 
of  the  mire  of  his  vices  !  I  wonder  at  my  own  self- 
restraint,"  he  added,  as  the  other  fell  back  a  step 
before  his  angry  advance. 

"  Will  you  hear  me  ?"  said  Oldmixon. 

"Hear  you?  No,"  said  Wholesome.  "When 
you  hear  of  me  again,  it  will  be  through  the  sheriff." 

"  Ah,  is  it  so  really  ?"  returned  the  other.  "  Have 
your  way,  then,  and  see  what  will  come  of  it;"  and 
so  saying,  he  turned  and  went  away. 

Wholesome  stood  an  instant,  and  then,  looking 
up,  said  to  me,  "  You  here  yet?  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  enough  to  trouble  you.  Do  me  the  kindness 
not  to  mention  it.  I  did  not  mean  the  talk  should 
have  been  a  long  one,  and  it  had  better  have  been 
elsewhere,  but  a  man  is  not  always  his  own  master." 

This  I  thought  myself,  but  the  upper  streets  of 
Philadelphia  were  in  that  day  half  country,  the  way 
farers  scarce,  save  on  the  main  highways.  I  said  to 
him  that  I  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  what  was  said, 
but  did  not  fully  understand  it. 

"  No  need  to,"  he  replied.     "  Forget  it,  my  lad." 

That  evening  late,  as  we  sat  at  our  window  in  the 
second  story,  Schmidt  and  I,  we  heard  voices  in  the 
garden  just  below  us,  at  first  low,  then  louder. 

"  It  is  Priscilla  and  Wholesome,  not  yet  gone  away 
to  sleep,"  said  Schmidt.  "  What  will  he  ?  There  is 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


145 


a  something  which  ever  she  asks  and  ever  he  will 
not.  And  if  she  would  it  ask  of  the  other,  which  is 
me,  there  would  be  ways  to  do  it,  I  warrant  you,  and 
that  quickly.  Canst  hear,  my  boy  ?" 

"  Hear?"  said  I  aloud,  so  as  to  disturb  the  couple 
below,  who,  however,  were  too  intent  to  heed  my 
warning.  "Hear?  What  business  have  I  with 
other  people's  affairs?"  and  so  I  coughed  again 
lustily. 

"Foolish  imp!  why  shall  you  spoil  my  drama?" 
said  Schmidt.  "  Never  have  you  paid  as  I  have  to 
get  an  interest  in  them  which  play ;  and  think  what 
a  rare  piece  you  spoil,  and  how  pretty,  too,  with  this 
jealous  lover  on  the  balcony  and  the  drab  Romeo 
and  Juliet  in  the  moonshine  beneath  !  See  !  what  is 
it  they  speak  ?  He  says,  '  Yes,  you  shall  have  your 
way.'  And  about  what,  my  lord  ?  Would  you  mind 
if  that  I  go  below  to  hear?" 

"  Now  that,"  I  said,  "  you  shall  not  do." 

"  And  wherefore  should  I  tarry  ?"  he  returned. 
"  Are  my  motives  as  the  crystal  to  be  seen  through  ? 
And  if  I  listen  for  ill,  that  is  ill ;  and  if  I  go  to  listen 
for  good " 

"  Good  or  ill,"  said  I,  "  friend  Schmidt,  we  do  not 
do  such  things  here." 

"And  there  is  to  myself  wonderment  that  it  is  so," 
he  returned ;  "  and  as  it  is  my  conscience  that  will 
bleed,  I  go." 

"  Not  so,"  said  I,  laughing,  and  began  to  hail 
Wholesome  in  the  garden,  and  to  ask  him  to  throw 
me  a  cheroot. 

As  I  called  out  the  voices  ceased,  and  Schmidt, 
G  k  13 


I46  THEE  AND    YOU. 

quite  furious,  exclaimed,  "There  is  not  so  much  of 
amusing  in  the  life  of  gray  and  drab  here  as  that  an 
interest  shall  be  taken  out  of  it,  and  nevermore  be 
missed.  The  thing  you  have  done  is  unhuman." 

Meanwhile,  Wholesome  had  thrown  up  to  me  his 
cigar-case,  and  Priscilla  had  flitted  into  the  house  like 
a  misty  ghost  through  the  moonlight. 

The  little  I  had  heard  that  night,  and  what  Schmidt 
had  added  as  comment,  and  what  Wholesome  had 
said  to  Oldmixon,  could  not  fail,  of  course,  to  make 
clear  to  me  that  here  was  a  mystery  which  seemed 
to  be  growing  deeper. 

Meanwhile,  our  daily  work  went  on,  while  Mis 
tress  White  grew  paler  than  her  white  kerchief,  and 
went  about  her  household  tasks  watched  by  loving 
and  tender  eyes.  As  I  was  a  sort  of  extra  clerk  at 
our  counting-house  and  received  no  salary,  I  went 
and  came  with  more  liberty  than  the  rest ;  whence  it 
chanced  that  sometimes  I  was  at  home  when  John 
Oldmixon  paid  his  frequent  afternoon  visits.  I  liked 
the  man  little,  and  since  his  meeting  with  Wholesome 
less  than  ever.  Once  or  twice  I  found  Priscilla  crying 
after  he  had  gone ;  and  this  so  moved  me  that  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  tell  Schmidt,  partly  because  I  was 
curious,  and  partly  because,  with  a  boy's  lack  of 
knowledge  of  the  perplexities  of  life,  I  hoped  to  find 
or  hear  of  some  escape  for  her.  I  was  saved  this 
need  by  an  event  which  chanced  a  day  or  two  later. 

I  came  home  early  in  the  afternoon  with  Schmidt 
to  get  our  rough  clothes,  as  we  meant  to  be  gone  a 
day  or  two  down  the  river  in  his  boat,  and  to  sleep 
the  first  night  at  Chester  or  Marcus  Hook.  As  we 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


147 


entered  the  parlor  I  heard  a  harsh  voice  saying 
roughly,  "  I  will  wait  no  longer.  Be  as  good  as  your 
written  pledge,  or  let  me  go  and  drift  to  the  devil,  as 
I  shall.  Only  one  person  can  save  me." 

Schmidt  seized  my  arm  and  held  me  back  at  the 
door  a  moment,  and  I  heard  Priscilla  say,  "  Can  thee 
fail  to  see  how  ill  I  grow  ?  Will  thee  not  wait  but  a 
little  while,  John, — only  a  little  ?  Richard  has  prom 
ised  me  thee  shall  take  no  hurt:  thee  knows  he  would 
not  lie." 

All  this  while,  at  brief  intervals,  like  a  scared  bird 
who  sees  near  her  nest  a  serpent,  the  old  lady  from 
her  seat  between  the  windows  kept  sounding  her  one 
note:  "Has  thee  a  four-leaved  clover?"  in  a  voice 
shrill  and  feeble. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  turned  away  as  Oldmixon  replied 
to  Priscilla,  "  Not  a  week  longer, — not  a  week  !  You 
are  lying  to  me  in  your  heart,  and  you  only  just  dare 
not  lie  with  your  lips." 

This  brutal  speech  was  too  much  for  Schmidt. 
"  The  man,"  he  said,  "  which  can  this  suffer  should 
no  more  breathe  the  air  of  God  ;"  and  so  saying  went 
in  abruptly. 

As  he  entered,  I  being  behind  him,  John  Old 
mixon,  confused' and  wrathful,  let  go  his  rough  hold 
on  Priscilla's  wrists  and  rose  up,  seeking  to  compose 
his  disturbed  features.  The  German  walked  straight 
up  to  him.  "  Not  ever  do  we  abuse  women  in  this 
house,"  he  said.  "  Go  straightways  out  of  it." 

Oldmixon  laughed.  "How  is  this,  'Cilia?"  he 
said. 

"What  is  called  a  gentleman,"  said  Schmidt,  "he 


148  THEE  AND    YOU. 

is  very  mild  to  women.  Talk  your  great  talk  to  me 
who  am  a  man  :  what  need  to  shelter  by  a  petticoat." 

By  this  time  Priscilla  was  her  quiet  self.  "  Hush, 
John !"  she  said.  "  You  will  both  remember  my 
aged  mother." 

"  Has  thee  a  four-leaved  clover  ?"  said  the  old 
dame. 

"  There  is  of  you  but  a  child,"  returned  Schmidt 
to  Priscilla  softly  :  "  the  ways  of  foul  things  like  this 
one  you  do  not  know.  Leave  us  but  a  moment,  and 
never  shall  he  more  trouble  thy  sweetness." 

Oldmixon's  face  grew  gray  with  rage.  "  Insolent 
little  Dutchman  !"  he  said. 

"  Hush !"  again  broke  in  Priscilla.  "  Speak  not 
thus  ;"  and  turning  to  Schmidt,  "This  is  my  husband 
that  shall  be.  How  we  may  differ  is  for  us  alone. 
I  pray  thee  to  go  away,  and  be  angry  no  more  for 
the  cross  that  is  to  be  borne  by  me  with  what  patience 
the  Lord  shall  help  me  to  get." 

"  He  does  not  help  me  to  any  patience,"  said 
Schmidt,  "  seeing  these  things ;  but  if  it  be  as  you 
say,  I  go ;  but  as  for  this  man " 

"  Well  ?"  said  Oldmixon. 

"  Come  away,  Schmidt,"  I  exclaimed.  "  This  is  no 
business  of  yours.  Come!" 

"  Yes,  go,"  said  Priscilla,  anxiously,  standing  like 
an  angel  of  peace  between  the  two  angry  men. 

"  Let  it  then  be  so,"  said  Schmidt,  "  for  now." 

"  And  for  always,"  said  she. 

And  we  turned  and  went  without  more  words. 

Another  week  went  by,  when  one  morning  Schmidt 
proposed  to  me  that  we  should  walk  up  the  Schuyl- 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


149 


kill  to  the  Falls ;  and  as  I  was  always  glad  of  his 
company,  we  set  out  after  our  one-o'clock  dinner. 
Where  we  walked  by  ponds  and  green  fields  and 
gardens  the  great  city  has  come  and  left  no  spot  un 
filled  ;  but  now,  as  then,  above  Fairmount  the  river 
rolled  broad  between  grassy  hills  and  bold  rocky 
points.  We  hailed  a  boatman  just  below  Callowhill 
Street,  and  being  set  on  the  far  side  went  away  north 
ward  along  the  river-marge.  It  was  lovely  then :  it 
is  so  to-day.  We  walked  on,  leaving  above  us  on 
the  bank  the  sloping  lawns  of  Solitude,  Sweetbrier's, 
Eaglesfield,  and  at  last  Belmont,  and,  now  by  the 
water-side  and  now  under  the  overhanging  catalpas 
of  the  "  River  Road,"  came  at  last  to  the  "  Falls." 
In  those  days  a  vast  rock  extended  two-thirds  of  the 
way  across  from  the  west  side,  and  so  dammed  .up 
the  waters  that  they  broke  in  foam  through  the  nar 
row  gap  on  the  east,  and  fell  noisily  about  six  feet 
in  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  The  rock,  I  recall  well, 
was  full  of  potholes,  and  there  was  one  known  from 
its  shape  as  Devil  Foot.  Of  all  this  there  is  to-day 
nothing  left,  the  dam  at  Fairmount  having  hidden  it 
under  water,  but  in  tliose  times  the  view  from  the 
rock  took  in  a  lovely  sweep  of  river  down  to  Peter's 
Island  and  far  beyond  it. 

That  was  a  day  to  remember,  and  it  brought  out 
all  that  was  most  curious  and  quaint  and  sincere  in 
my  German  friend.  It  was  mid-October,  and  a  haze 
which  was  gray  or  gold  as  shade  or  sun  prevailed  lay 
moveless  everywhere. 

Said  Schmidt  to  me,  basking  on  the  rock,  "  Have 
you  learned  yet  to  look  with  curiousness  at  this 


ISO 


THEE   AND    YOU. 


pretty  Nature  which  for  us  dresses  with  nice  changes 
all  the  days  ?" 

His  speech  often  puzzled  me,  and  I  said  as  much 
this  time. 

"  It  is  my  bad  English  which  I  have  when  I  try 
not  to  talk  my  Spenser  or  my  Shakespeare,  to  which 
I  went  to  school.  It  was  not  a  mystery  I  meant.  I 
would  but  this  say,  that  it  is  gainful  of  what  is  most 
sweet  in  living  to  have  got  that  wise  nearness  of  love 
to  Nature.  Well !  and  I  am  not  yet  understood  ? 
So  let  it  be.  When  a  music  which  pleases  you  is 
heard,  is  it  that  it  fills  up  full  your  throat  some  way 
and  overflows  your  eyes  ?" 

I  was  ever  sensitive  to  harmony,  and  could  follow 
him  now.  I  said,  (i  Yes,  there  are  songs  which  are 
most  sweet  to  me, — which  so  move  me  that  I  scarce 
hear  them  willingly." 

"  Thus,"  he  said,  "  I  am  stirred  by  the  great  orches 
tra  of  color  which  is  here,  but  music  I  know  not. 
How  strange  is  that!  And  if,"  he  said,  "you  were 
to  shut  your  eyes,  what  is  it  in  this  loveliness  would 
stay  with  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  I,  "  no  one  thing  makes  it  lovely. 
It  is  not  only  color,  but  sounds,  like  this  rush  of 
water  at  our  feet." 

"  It  is  as  you  say,"  replied  Schmidt.  "  And  what 
a  sweet-tempered  day,  with  a  gray  haziness  and  a  not 
unkindly  coolness  to  the  air  where  the  sun  is  not!" 

"A  day  like  Priscilla,"  I  said,  demurely. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  that  was  well  said, — like  Pris 
cilla.  How  lovely  sad  that  is,"  he  went  on,  "to  see 
the  leaves  shiver  in  the  wind  and  rain  all  reds  and 


THEE  AND    YOU.  151 

golds  through  the  air !  And  do  you  see  this  picture 
behind  us,  where  is  that  great  green  fir,  and  around 
it  to  the  top,  like  a  flame,  the  scarlet  of  your  Virginia 
creeper?  And  below  these  firs  on  the  ground  is  a 
carpet, — a  carpet  all  colors  near,  and  gray  pinks  to 
us  far  away ;  and  under  the  maples  what  you  call, — 
ach  !  the  wild  words  which  fail  me, — fine  broken-up 
gold  and  red  bits.  It  is  what  you  call  stippled,  I 
mean." 

"  And  the  curled  leaves  afloat,"  I  said,  "how  pretty 
they  are." 

"And  the  brown  sedges,"  he  added,  "and  the 
crumpled  brown  ferns,  and  over  them  the  great 
splendid  masses  of  color,  which  do  laugh  at  a 
painter!" 

Then  we  were  silent  a  while,  and  the  blue  smoke 
went  up  in  spirals  from  Schmidt's  meerschaum.  At 
last  he  said,  in  his  odd,  abrupt  way,  "  To  talk  helps 
to  think.  This  is  a  strange  coil  we  have  about  our 
good  Priscilla.  I  have  been  going  it  over  in  my  own 
mind." 

"  I  understand  it  so  little,"  said  I,  "  that  I  am  un 
able  to  help  you.  Can  you  tell  me  more  of  it  than 
I  know  already  ?" 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Schmidt,  frankly.  "  This  is 
it " 

"  But  stop !"  said  I.  "  If  it  involves  other  folks' 
secrets,  I  do  not  want  to  know  it." 

"  That  is  my  business,"  returned  Schmidt,  delib 
erately  filling  his  pipe.  "  What  I  do  I  settle  with 
my  own  conscience  if  I  have  any ;  which  I  know  not 
clearly.  How  amazing  some  day  to  be  called  to  an 


152  THEE  AND    YOU. 

account  for  it,  and  then  to  put  hands  in  the  moral 
pockets  and  say,  '  Where  is  it  ?'  Let  me  talk  my 
dark  thoughts  out  to  daylight." 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  go  on." 

"  And  first  of  Oldmixon.  There  is,  I  have  come 
to  know,  a  black  history  of  this  man  in  the  war. 
Our  good  Wholesome  was  in  the  way  to  help  him 
with  money,  so  much  that  to  pay  he  could  not.  Then 
is  there  a  not  nice  story  of  a  shipwreck,  and  boats 
too  full,  and  women  which  he  would  throw  overboard 
or  not  take  in  from  a  sinking  ship,  and  sharp  words 
and  a  quarrel  with  Wholesome,  and  these  followed 
by  a  stab  in  the  darkness,  and  a  good  man  over  in  a 
raging  sea  and  no  more  seen  of  men." 

"  Good  Heavens !"  said  I :  "do  you  mean  he 
stabbed  Wholesome?" 

"  It  is  so,"  he  replied. 

"  And  then  ?"  said  I. 

"  Next,"  he  said,  "  is  some  foul  horror  of  women 
shrieking  lonely  on  a  vessel's  deck  over  which  go  the 
wailing  seas.  But  this  Wholesome  is  by  a  miracle  afloat 
for  hours  on  a  spar,  and  saved  by  a  passing  ship." 

V  But  knowing  all  this,"  I  said,  "  why  does  he  not 
tell  it  and  drive  the  wretch  away  ?" 

"  Because,"  returned  Schmidt,  "  there  is  another 
side, — of  a  little  Quaker  girl,  the  ward  of  Nicholas 
Oldmixon,  who  is  on  a  time  before  this  saved  from 
great  peril  of  fear  more  than  of  death  by  this  man, 
John  Oldmixon,  and  then  such  love  between  them 
as  may  be  betwixt  a  fair  woman  and  a  foul  man." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "this  does  not  seem  enough  to  make 
our  present  tangle." 


THEE  AND    YOU.  ^3 

"  Assuredly  never,"  he  went  on.  "  But  also  the 
man  takes  to  worse  ways,  and  to  the  woman's  girl- 
love  comes  later  her  belief  that  here  is  a  soul  to  save. 
And,  come  what  will,  she,  when  he  has  fled  away, 
writes  letters  in  which  she  makes  foolish  promise  to 
marry  him  when  he  comes  back." 

"  But  will  she  keep  such  an  absurd  promise  ?" 
I  said. 

"  Is  she  a  woman  ?"  he  answered.  "  There  is  a 
creature  mingled  of  angel  and  fool  which  will  do  this 
thing,  and  let  no  man  stop  her." 

"  But,"  I  added,  "  you  have  not  told  me  why 
Wholesome  does  not  go  to  the  recorder  and  tell  his 
story,  and  have  the  scoundrel  arrested." 

"  Ah,  true  !"  he  said.  "  A  day  more  and  the  thing 
would  have  been ;  but  the  beast,  well  warned  by  our 
foolish  Quaker  war-man,  goes  swiftly  to  Priscilla  and 
is  penitent  over  again,  and  will  she  save  him  ?" 

"  And  then  ?"  said  I. 

"  This  Quaker  woman  turns  my  man  Wholesome 
her  finger  around,  and  says,  '  God  has  set  me  the 
task  to  marry  this  man,  John  Oldmixon,  and  save 
his  soul  alive,' — whatever  that  may  mean, — and  ,so 
she  has  Wholesome's  good  promise  that  he  will  leave 
the  wretch  to  her  and  his  conscience  forever." 

"  And  so  it  ends,"  said  I,  "  and  Priscilla  is  a  dead 
woman.  If  I  were  Wholesome,  I  would  save  her 
despite  herself,  even  if  she  never  married  me." 

"  But  you  are  not  Richard  Wholesome,"  he  re 
turned.  "  There  is  half  of  him  Quaker  and  half  a 
brave  gentleman,  and  all  of  him  the  bond-slave  of  a 
woman's  foolish  will." 


154  THEE  AND    YOU. 

"  Then  is  it  a  tale  told  ?"  I  said. 

"  Hardly  do  I  know,"  replied  Schmidt,  rising. 
"  There  are  two  ends  to  all  things.  Let  us  go  :  the 
twilight  falls,  and  how  lovely  is  the  golden  light  on 
the  yellow  hickories  yonder!" 

And  so  we  strolled  homeward  lazily,  the  chill 
October  evening  air  growing  damper  and  the  twi 
light  well  upon  us  before  we  reached  the  city. 

Just  as  we  were  come  to  our  own  door,  Schmidt, 
who  had  been  long  silent,  stopped  me  and  said, 
"There  is  a  thing  I  would -say  to  you  for  lack  of  an 
elder  to  listen.  But  first  make  me  a  promise  that  no 
man's  ear  shall  get  the  value  of  what  I  have  said  to 
you." 

"  I  will  tell  no  one,"  I  answered. 

Then  he  paused  :  "  This  more  I  want  of  you.  I  have 
much  weighed  it  before  I  thought  to  put  on  one  so 
young  what  may  come  to  be  a  burden  ;  but  also  there 
is  none  else.  Some  time  if  that  I  send  or  write  for 
you  to  follow  me,  do  it  swiftly  as  I  may  direct.  Will 
you?" 

I  said  yes  with  a  sense  that  it  was  to  one  of  my 
bringing  up  a  little  too  romantic,  and  so  far  absurd  ; 
yet  his  tone  was  earnest,  and  even  sad,  and  I  there 
fore  took  care  not  to  smile. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  returned  ;  and  we  went  in. 

All  that  time  is  broken  up  for  me  into  distinct 
scenes  like  a  play,  some  of  them,  as  I  said  before, 
having  the  clearness  of  pictures,  being  like  these  but 
the  scenes  of  a  moment.  The  days  and  hours  be 
tween  are  less  well  defined  in  my  memory.  There  is 
one  of  these  brief  pictures  which  hangs  as  it  were  in 


THEE  AND    YOU.  155 

my  mind,  and  which  I  could  wish  that  some  one 
would  paint  for  me. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  Wholesome,  as  had 
often  chanced  of  late,  did  not  go  to  meeting,  but  after 
breakfast  walked  out  of  the  room  with  a  sombre  face 
and  clouded  brow,  and  went  slowly  up-stairs  to  his 
chambers  in  the  third  story.  In  one  he  slept;  the 
other  was  a  sitting-room,  filled  with  relics  of  his 
many  voyages, — skins  of  wild  beasts,  deer  and  moose 
horns,  pipes  and  the  like, — of  which  I  found  it  pleas 
ant  to  hear  him  chat.  I  followed  him  up-stairs,  and 
with  Schmidt  came  to  the  door  of  his  room,  meaning 
to  ask  him  to  walk  with  us.  He  must  have  been 
much  taken  up  with  his  own  thoughts,  for  he  did  not 
hear  us,  and,  the  door  being  ajar,  Schmidt  of  a  sudden 
checked  me  and  pointed  into  the  room.  Against 
the  farther  wall  was  a  tall  mahogany  clock,  such  as 
are  common  in  old  houses  here, — a  rather  stately 
timepiece,  crowned  with  a  carven  cock  over  its  ample 
metal  face.  Below  it,  on  the  floor,  lay  a  large  tiger- 
skin,  upon  which  stood  Wholesome.  The  clock-door 
was  open,  and  he  seemed  to  have  just  taken  from  its 
interior  a  pair  of  rapiers.  One  he  had  set  against  the 
clock,  and  unsheathing  the  other  he  held  the  point 
in  one  hand  and  the  haft  in  the  other,  and  bent  it  as 
if  to  try  its  temper.  I  can  see  the  man  now  in  his 
drab  clothes,  his  curly  hair,  his  look  of  easy,  ample 
strength,  the  tiger-skin  and  the  open  clock.  Then  I 
can  see  him  throw  his  chest  out  and  lunge  twice  or 
thrice  at  the  wall  with  the  lightsome  grace  of  a  prac 
tised  hand. 

Schmidt  stepped  back  on  tiptoe,  whispering,  "  Come 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

away,"  and  silently  we  went  down  the  staircase,  I 
wondering,  and  he  moody  and  abstracted,  making 
no  reply  to  my  questionings  and  comments. 

At  last  he  said,  "  I  walk  not  to-day.  Will  you 
please  me  to  not  forget  what  you  have  promised 
yesterday  ?" 

The  summons  came  soon.  I  was  lying  on  the 
grass  under  the  apricots,  teasing  the  cat  for  the  lack 
of  better  amusement,  that  Sunday  in  the  early  after 
noon.  Across  me  fell  the  shadow  of  Schmidt  coming 
noiseless  over  the  sward.  I  rolled  over  on  my  back, 
laughing  and  tossing  the  angry  cat  about,  knowing 
not  it  was  the  shadow  of  a  tragedy  which  had  fallen 
across  me  at  my  careless  play. 

Schmidt  regarded  me  a  moment  with  a  soft,  grave 
look,  and  then,  dropping  on  the  grass  beside  me,  said, 
"  I  have  before  me  in  the  day  which  goes  a  business 
which  will  not  be  the  play  of  boys ;  but  being,  as  you 
know,  a  man  of  lonely  ways,  there  is  not  one  I  can 
think  to  ask  that  they  go  with  me." 

"  And  why  not  take  me,"  I  said,  "  as  you  meant  to 
do,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  would  not  if  I  could  help  it,"  he  returned. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Schmidt,"  said  I,  abruptly,  "  it  is  a  fancy 
you  and  Mr.  Wholesome  have  to  make  a  boy  of  me ; 
but  if  not  forty,  I  am  no  more  a  boy  than  you.  If 
you  want  help  and  I  can  give  it,  I  am  at  your  call. 
If  you  want  to  explain  your  purpose,  I  will  listen.  If 
you  choose  to  hold  your  tongue,  I  am  willing  to  go 
with  you  anywhere  without  question." 

"  That  was  nice-spoken,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  and 
with  good  trust.  There  will  a  woman  love  you  well 


THEE  AND    YOU.  157 

some  day  for  the  sweet  honest  ways  of  you.  Come, 
then,  and  wait  for  me  at  the  door  a  moment." 

He  presently  appeared  with  a  long  plaid  cloak  over 
his  shoulders,  the  air  being  shrewd  and  cool,  and 
we  went  away  down  Arch  Street  together. 

At  the  corner  of  High  and  Front  stood  a  building 
with  hipped  roof  and  many  gables,  once  the  London 
Coffee-House,  but  at  the  time  I  speak  of  rather  fallen 
in  its  fortunes  to  be  a  lodging-house  of  no  great 
repute,  but  not  ill  kept,  and  in  the  war  a  great  resort 
of  privateersmen. 

As  we  turned  into  the  bar-room  together,  Schmidt 
said  to  me,  "  You  are  here  only  to  see,  and  to  re 
member  what  you  come  to  see." 

Then  he  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  landlord, 
like  himself  a  German,  and,  laughing  gayly,  went 
away  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  a  front  room  on  the 
second  story,  where  he  knocked.  I  heard  no  reply, 
but,  at  all  events,  Schmidt  walked  in,  and  as  I  passed 
him  turned,  locked  the  door,  and,  keeping  the  key  in 
his  hand,  went  a  pace  or  two  before  me.  At  the 
table  between  the  windows  sat  John  Oldmixon.  He 
turned  his  head,  and  with  an  oath  too  profane  to 
repeat  threw  down  his  pen,  and  rising  faced  us. 
Schmidt  walked  to  the  table,  and  glancing  at  the 
half-written  letter  which  lay  there,  said,  smiling,  "  You 
write  to  Richard  Wholesome  ?  Then  am  I  yet  in 
good  time." 

"  For  what?"  exclaimed  Oldmixon,  angrily.  "To 
look  at  a  private  letter  ?  Who  the  devil  asked  you  to 
come  here  ?  Leave  my  room,  or " 

"  Hush  !"  said  Schmidt,  quietly.  "  You  are,  as  I 
14 


I58 


THEE  AND    YOU. 


do  suppose,  a  man  of  the  world,  and  what  is  called  a 
gentleman.  I  have  a  brief  business  with  you,  which 
I  would  not  for  the  sake  of  myself  and  you  should 
be  known." 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,"  returned  Oldmixon,  "  of  any 
business  you  can  possibly  have  with  me.  Open  that 
door  and  leave  my  room." 

"Ach!  well!"  said  Schmidt.  "Will  you  then 
listen  to  me  ?" 

"  No  !"  cried  the  other.  "  No  man  shall  play  this 
kind  of  game  on  me.  Go,  or  I  shall  have  to  make 
you." 

"  It  will  be  well  if  you  shall  hear  me,"  replied 
Schmidt,  quite  master  of  himself. 

"  Then,"  said  the  other,  "  I  shall  open  the  door  by 
force  and  have  you  put  out." 

"  But  to  my  side  there  are  two,"  said  Schmidt,  as 
Oldmixon  advanced. 

On  this  hint  I  stood  against  the  door,  saying, 
"  What  Mr.  Schmidt  wants  I  know  no  more  than 
you,  but  until  you  hear  him  you  do  not  leave  this 
room." 

Oldmixon  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  then, 
as  by  a  sudden  resolution,  said,  "  A  deuced  pretty 
business,  indeed !  I  cannot  fight  two.  What  is  it 
you  want?" 

"  Now  you  are  come  into  the  land  of  reason,"  said 
the  German.  "  I  pray  of  you  to  hear  me,  and  with 
tranquilness  to  think." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Oldmixon. 

"  Good  !"  returned  Schmidt.  "  Mr.  Wholesome, — 
who  does  well  know  all  of  you,  from  the  one  side  of 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

you  to  the  other,  what  you  call  through  and  through, 
— he  has  his  cause  why  he  may  not  tell  of  you  and 
send  you  away  or  have  you  put  in  jail." 

"  Nonsense  !  what  stuff  is  this  ?"  exclaimed  Old- 
mixon. 

"  Yet  hear,"  said  Schmidt.  "  I  have  put  on  paper, 
which  is  in  my  pocket  here,  a  little  account  of  you 
for  to  be  given  to  a  magistrate.  When  he  comes  to 
see  it  there  arrives  straight  the  constable,  and  he 
touches  you  on  the  shoulder  and  says,  '  You  come 
with  me.'  " 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  the  other.     "  Is  this  a  theatre  ?" 

"  It  is  a  theatre,"  returned  Schmidt,  "  and  we  are 
the  actors,  and  the  play  is  good.  This  paper  you 
can  have  on  your  own  terms  if  you  are  wise ;  and 
once  it  is  yours,  I  swear  to  you  I  shall  not  ever  in  life 
speak  or  write  of  you  again.  But  if  you  will  not, 
then  when  I  go  from  this,  in  a  time  but  short,  it  shall 
be  in  the  hands  of  the  recorder." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  an  idiot  ?"  said  the  other. 
"  What  do  I  care  for  your  terms  ?  and  what  are 
you  to  me  ?  Wholesome  will  never  testify  against 
me." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Schmidt ;  "  and  still  you  will  be 
no  less  a  man  ruined ;  and  here  at  least  there  shall 
be  no  place  for  you,  and  no  woman — ay,  not  the 
lowest — will  look  on  you  with  grace." 

Oldmixon  fell  back  a  pace,  hesitated,  and  said 
hoarsely,  "  What  do  you  want?" 

Schmidt  leaned  over  and  said  something  to  him 
which  I  did  not  hear. 

Oldmixon  started.     "  Fight  you  !"  he  said,  with  a 


l6o  THEE  AND    YOU. 

sort  of  bewilderment.  "  What  for  ?  We  have  no 
quarrel.  What  utter  nonsense  !" 

"  Nonsense  or  not,"  cried  Schmidt,  "you  fight  or  I 
go ;  and  what  shall  follow  I  have  not  failed  to  tell 
you." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  the  other,  "  I  am  to  be  at 
the  beck  and  call  of  every  foreign  adventurer?  If 
you  come  on  Wholesome's  quarrel,  go  back  and  tell 
him  I  will  meet  him  anywhere  with  any  weapons. 
With  him,  at  least,  I  have  a  score  to  settle." 

"  And  what  score  ?"  returned  Schmidt. 

"  He  has  struck  me,"  said  Oldmixon.  "  I  am  only 
waiting  my  time.  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you." 

"  That  is  a  thing  easy  to  mend,"  said  Schmidt ;  and 
to  my  surprise  and  horror  he  struck  Oldmixon  on 
the  face  with  the  leather  glove  he  held. 

The  other,  wild  with  rage,  hit  out  at  him  fiercely 
as  I  threw  myself  between  them,  and  there  was  a 
moment's  struggle,  when  Schmidt  exclaimed,  step 
ping  back,  "  Will  that  be  enough  ?" 

"  Too  much  !"  cried  the  other,  furiously.  *'  You 
shall  have  your  way,  and  your  blood  be  on  your  own 
head,  not  on  mine.  I  take  you,  sir,  to  witness,"  he 
added,  appealing  to  me,  "  that  he  provoked  this 
quarrel." 

"  It  is  so,"  said  Schmidt ;  and  turning  to  me,  "  Let 
come  what  shall,  Herr  Shelburne,  you  will  say  it  was 
my  quarrel.  And  now,"  to  Oldmixon,  "the  terms 
are  but  these ;"  and  he  talked  apart  with  his  foe  a 
few  moments.  There  was  anger  and  dissent  and  in- 
sistance  in  their  words,  but  I  could  not,  and  did  not 
wish  to,  hear  them. 


THEE  AND    YOU.  l6l 

At  last  Schmidt  said  aloud,  "It  is  the  letters 
against  this  paper,  and  Mr.  Shelburne  to  hear  and 
take  notice." 

I  bowed,  somewhat  in  the  dark,  I  confess. 

"  Mr.  Shelburne  has  my  full  confidence,"  said  Old- 
mixon,  saluting  me,  and  now  full  master  of  himself. 
"  And  what  time  to-morrow  shall  it  be  ?"  he  added. 

"  To-day,"  returned  Schmidt. 

"  Ah !  as  you  like,"  said  the  other,  with  a  good 
show  of  indifference ;  "  and  the  hour  and  place,  if 
you  please?" 

"To-day,"  said  Schmidt,  "at  six  o'clock.  There 
are  certain  willows  of  a  clump  which  stand  a  mile 
below  Passyunk  Road  in  the  meadow  on  the  way  to 
League  Island.  Four  there  are  and  one  dead, — on 
the  left.  If  at  that  hour  we  meet  not,  the  word  shall 
to  the  magistrate,  as  I  have  said  it." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Oldmixon ;  "  I  shall  not  fail 
you.  The  threat  was  little  needed.  Who  is  your 
second.  Mine  will  be " 

"  There  will  be  no  second  or  any  to  see,"  said 
Schmidt. 

"  But  this  is  not  a  duel :  it  is  murder !"  exclaimed 
Oldmixon. 

"  We  will  call  no  names,"  replied  the  German. 
"  Will  you  be  there  ?  And  listen  :  if  I  am  not  of  the 
lucky  side,  you  will  take  this  paper  and  your  letters, 
and  so  will  it  end.  That  is  my  bargain,  and  you 
have  much  to  win." 

"  Enough  !"  cried  the  other.  "  I  shall  be  there, — 
ay,  and  ready.  Your  weapons  ?" 

"  These,"  said  Schmidt ;  and  throwing  back  his 
/  14* 


1 62  THEE  AND    YOU. 

cloak,  he  displayed  the  two  rapiers  we  had  seen 
Wholesome  handling. 

"At  six?" 

"  At  six,"  said  the  other ;  and  with  no  more  words 
we  left  the  room. 

During  this  singular  scene  I  had  held  my  peace, 
but  as  we  reached  the  street  I  said,  "  You  cannot 
mean  to  meet  this  man  ?" 

"  But  I  shall,"  he  replied,  "  and  you  will  here  leave 
me." 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  not  do.  If  you  go  alone, 
it  must  seem  to  any  one  a  murder  should  either  of 
you  die.  I  go  with  you,  come  what  may." 

He  reasoned  with  me  in  vain,  and  at  last,  seeing 
that  the  time  sped  away,  he  yielded,  and  we  hastily 
took  a  chaise  from  a  livery-stable,  and,  I  driving, 
we  went  away  to  the  place  set.  Within  a  hundred 
yards  of  it  we  tied  the  horse  and  silently  walked 
down  the  road.  Presently  Schmidt  got  over  a  fence, 
and  crossing  a  meadow  paused  under  a  group  of 
pollard  willows. 

The  scene  is  with  me  now,  to  fade  only  when  I 
also  vanish.  A  nearly  level  sun  shot  golden  light 
across  the  tufted  marsh-grasses  of  the  low  Neck 
lands,  already  touched  with  autumn  grays.  There 
was  no  house  near  us,  and  far  away  I  could  see  over 
the  ditches  and  above  the  dikes  of  this  bit  of  Hol 
land  the  tops  of  schooners  on  the  distant  Schuylkill. 
To  the  north  the  broken  lines  of  the  city  still  took 
the  fading  sun,  while  around  us  a  chill  October  haze 
began  to  dim  the  farther  meadows,  and  to  hover  in 
the  corners  of  the  dikes  and  over  the  wider  ditches. 


THEE  AND    YOU.  163 

We  had  waited  a  Few  moments  only,  I  leaning 
thoughtfully  against  a  tree,  Schmidt  quietly  walking 
to  and  fro,  smoking  as  usual,  and,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  no  more  moved  than  if  he  were  here  to  shoot 
for  a  wager.  The  next  moment  I  started,  as  behind 
me  broke  out  the  loud  roar  of  some  ancient  bullfrog. 
In  fact,  I  was  getting  nervous  and  chilly.  Schmidt 
laughed  merrily  at  my  scare.  "  And  listen  !"  he  said, 
as  all  around  the  frogs,  big  and  little,  broke  into 
hoarse  croakings  and  chirrups.  "Ah!"  he  went  on, 
"there  is  to  nature  always  a  chorus  ready.  Do  you 
find  a  sadness  in  their  tongues  to-day  ?" 

It  seemed  to  me  horrible,  indeed,  as  I  listened,  but 
it  had  never  so  seemed  to  me  before. 

"  And  now  is  our  man  here,"  exclaimed  Schmidt, 
as  the  sound  of  distant  horse-hoofs  caused  us  to  turn 
toward  the  road. 

A  moment  or  two  later,  Oldmixon,  who  had  dis 
mounted  and  tied  his  horse,  came  swiftly  over  the 
field. 

"There  are  two!"  he  exclaimed,  abruptly. 

"It  is  not  my  fault,"  said  Schmidt.  "But  Mr. 
Shelburne  shall  walk  a  hundred  yards  away  and 
wait.  If  you  kill  me,  it  will  be  not  so  bad  a  thing  to 
have  one  to  say  there  was  a  fair  play." 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  other;  "but  we  did  not  so 
agree." 

"  The  paper,"  said  Schmidt,  "  is  here ;  and  the 
letters  ? " 

"  Are  here,"  returned  Oldmixon. 

"  Mr.  Shelburne  shall  take  them,  if  you  please," 
added  Schmidt.  "  If  you  have  good  fortune,  they 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

both  shall  to  you ;  and  if  I  am  to  win,  Mr.  Shelburne 
shall  me  kindly  give  them,  and  I  pledge  my  honor 
as  a  man  to  be  truthful  to  what  I  have  you  promised. 
And  as  you  are  a  gentleman,  is  this  all  of  them  ?" 

"  On  my  honor,"  returned  Oldmixon,  proudly,  with 
more  courtesy  than  was  common  to  him. 

"  These,  then,  to  you,  my  Shelburne,"  said  Schmidt ; 
"and,  as  I  have  said,  you  will  amuse  yourself  a  hun 
dred  yards  away,  not  looking  until  there  is  no  more 
sound  of  swords." 

I  felt  there  was  no  more  to  be  done,  and  so  walked 
slowly  away,  carrying  the  papers,  while  the  two  men 
took  off  their  coats.  I  turned  at  the  sharp  click  of 
the  meeting  blades,  and  looked  with  wild  eagerness. 
The  contrast  between  the  German's  close-set,  ungainly 
form  and  the  well-knit,  tall  figure  of  his  foe  filled  me 
on  a  sudden  with  foreboding.  I  was  surprised,  how 
ever,  in  a  moment  to  see  that  Schmidt  was  a  master 
of  his  weapon.  For  a  minute  or  so — I  cannot  tell 
how  long,  it  seemed  to  me  an  eternity — the  swords 
flashed  and  met  and  quivered  and  seemed  glued  to 
gether,  and  then  there  were  two  cries  of  rage  and 
joy.  Schmidt's  foot  had  slipped  on  the  tufted  sward, 
and  Oldmixon's  sword-point  had  entered  his  right 
breast.  The  German  caught  the  blade  with  his  left 
hand,  and  ran  his  foe  furiously  through  the  sword- 
arm,  so  that  he  dropped  his  weapon,  staggered, 
slipped,  and  fell,  while  the  German  threw  the  blade 
far  to  the  left.  I  ran  forward  at  once. 

"  Back !"  cried  Schmidt ;  and,  gathering  himself 
up,  said  to  Oldmixon,  "  Your  life  is  mine.  Keep  still 
or  I  will  kill  you :  as  I  live,  I  will  kill  you !  You 


THEE  AND    YOU.  165 

had  Priscilla's  letters  :  they  are  to  me  now.  And  do 
you  give  her  up  for  always  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Oldmixon. 

"  Then  I  shall  kill  you,"  said  Schmidt.  "  Say  your 
prayers :  you  have  no  more  to  live." 

The  fallen  man  was  white  with  fear,  and  turned 
towards  me  for  help.  The  German,  hurt,  unsteady, 
feeling  his  minutes  precious,  was  yet  cool  and  stern. 
"  The  words  !"  he  said. 

"  I  am  in  your  power,"  said  Oldmixon. 

This  was  all,  as  it  were,  a  moment's  work,  while  I 
was  advancing  over  the  half-meadow  across  which  I 
had  retreated. 

"  Schmidt,"  I  said,  "  for  Heaven's  sake,  remember 
me  at  least.  Don't  kill  a  defenceless  man  in  cold 
blood." 

"Back!"  he  answered:  "not  a  step  more  near  or 
he  dies  as  by  you ;"  and  his  dripping  sword-point 
flickered  perilously  over  Oldmixon  as  he  lay  at  his 
feet.  "  Quick  !"  he  said.  "  I  am  hurt,— I  fail.  To 
kill  you  were  more  sure.  Quick !  the  words !  the 
words!" 

"What  words?"  said  Oldmixon.  "I  am  in  your 
power.  What  are  your  terms  ?" 

"  You  will  say,"  said  Schmidt,  his  hand  on  his  side 
and  speaking  hard,  "  you  will  say,  '  I  give  back  her 
words — with  her  letters.'  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Oldmixon. 

"And  you  hear?"  said  Schmidt  to  me  coming 
near;  "and  take  that  other  rapier,  Shelburne." 

Oldmixon  had  risen  and  stood  facing  us,  silent, 
ghastly,  an  awful  memory  to  this  day  as  a  baffled 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

man,  and  around  us  the  brown  twilight,  and  his  face 
black  against  the  blue  eastern  sky. 

"  Yet  a  word  more,"  said  Schmidt.  "  You  have 
lost,  and  I  have  won.  To-night  shall  my  charge  be 
set  before  a  magistrate.  You  have  a  horse :  go ! 
Let  us  see  you  not  any  more." 

It  was  after  dark  by  the  time  I  reached  home  in 
the  chaise  with  my  companion,  as  to  whom  I  felt  the 
most  bitter  anxiety.  At  first  I  spoke  to  him  of  his 
condition,  but  upon  his  saying  it  hurt  him  to  talk,  I 
ceased  to  question  him  and  hurried  the  horse  over 
the  broken  road.  When  at  last  we  were  at  our  house- 
door,  I  helped  him  to  get  out,  and  saw  him  sway  a 
moment  as  with  weakness.  As  I  opened  the  door  I 
said,  "  Let  me  help  you  to  bed." 

He  replied,  "Yes,  it  were  well;"  and  resting  a 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  used  one  of  the  sheathed 
rapiers  as  a  staff. 

Candles  were  burning  in  the  parlor,  and  an  astral 
lamp,  and  voices  sober  or  merry  came  through  the 
half-closed  door.  On  the  hall-table  was  also  a  can 
dle.  Of  a  sudden  Schmidt  paused,  and  said  in  a 
voice  broken  by  weakness,  with  a  certain  pitiful  terror 
in  its  tones,  "  The  power  goes  away  from  me.  I 
grow  blind,  and  shall — see — her — no — more." 

Meanwhile  he  rocked  to  and  fro,  and  then  with  a 
cry  of  "  Priscilla  !"  he  turned  from  my  supporting 
shoulder,  and  as  one  dazed,  pushed  open  the  parlor 
door,  and  staggering,  sword  in  hand,  into  the  room, 
dropped  it  and  leant  both  hands  on  the  little  round 
table  for  support,  so  that  for  a  moment  the  light  fell 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

on  his  ghastly  white  face  and  yearning  eyes.  Then 
he  swayed,  tottered,  and  fell  on  the  floor. 

They  were  all  around  him  in  a  moment  with  cries 
of  dismay  and  pity. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  said  some  one  to  me. 

Priscilla  was  on  the  floor  at  once,  and  had  lifted 
his  head  on  to  her  knee. 

"  He  is  hurt,"  said  I. 

"Ah!  God  have  pity  on  us!"  exclaimed  Whole 
some,  picking  up  his  rapier.  "  I  understand.  Bring 
water,  some  one,  and  brandy.  Quick !" 

"  Does  thee  see,"  cried  Priscilla  in  sudden  horror, 
"he  is  bleeding?  Oh,  cruel  men  !" 

I  stood  by  with  fear,  remorse,  and  sorrow  in  my 
heart.  "  It  was "  I  began. 

"Hush!"  broke  in  Wholesome,  "another  time. 
He  is  better.  His  eyes  are  open:  he  wants  some 
thing.  What  is  it,  Heinrich  ?" 

"  Priscilla,"  he  said. 

"  Priscilla  is  here,  dear  friend,"  she  said  quietly, 
bending  over  him. 

"  I  thought  I  was  a  little  boy  and  my  head  in  my 
mother's  lap.  Where  am  I  ?  Ah,  but  now  I  do 
remember.  The  letters !"  and  he  fumbled  at  his 
pocket,  and  at  last  pulled  them  out.  "  With  this  on 
them,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  ever  any  more  think  of 
him." 

They  were  stained  with  the  blood  from  his  wound. 

"Never!  never!  never!"  she  cried  piteously:  "for 
this  last  wickedness  no  forgiveness !" 

"  And  he  is  gone,"  he  added.  "  And  Shelburne, — 
where  is  my  Shelburne  ?" 


THEE  AND    YOU. 

"  Here  !  here  !"  I  said. 

"  Tell  her — he  gives  her  up — for  always — never  no 
more  to  trouble  her  good  sweetness.  Wholesome, 
where  art  thou  ?" 

"  I  am  with  you,"  said  the  captain,  in  a  voice  husky 
with  emotion. 

"Quick!  listen!"  continued  Schmidt,  gasping. 
"  Time  goes  away  for  me.  Is  it  that  you  do  love 
her  well  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  God  !"  said  Wholesome. 

"  But  never  more  so  well  as  I,"  said  Schmidt. 
"  Priscilla !"  As  he  spoke  his  eyes  looked  up  with 
yearning  into  the  face  above  his  own.  Then  suddenly 
he  drew  a  long  breath,  his  hands  ceased  to  clutch 
her  dress,  his  head  rolled  over.  He  was  dead. 

When  another  summer  again  lit  up  the  little  garden 
with  roses,  and  the  apricot  blossoms  were  as  snow 
in  the  air  of  June,  Priscilla  married  Richard  Whole 
some. 

All  of  Heinrich  Schmidt's  little  treasures  were  left 
to  her,  but  out  of  his  memory  came  to  her  other 
things  :  a  yet  more  gracious  tenderness  in  all  her 
ways, — to  her  religion  a  greater  breadth,  to  her 
thoughts  of  men  a  charity  which  grew  sweeter  as  it 
grew  larger,  like  her  own  spring  roses. 

The  Quaker  captain  lived  as  he  had  lived,  but  grew 
more  self-contained  as  years  went  by,  and  children 
came  to  chide  with  gentle  wonder  the  rare  outbreaks 
which  were  so  sad  a  scandal  to  Friends. 

We  laid  Heinrich  Schmidt  away  in  the  shadow  of 
Christ  Church,  and  around  his  grave  grew  flowers  in 


THEE  AND    YOU.  J£Q 

such  glorious  abundance  as  he  would  have  loved, 
and  by  what  gentle  hands  they  were  planted  and 
cared  for  it  were  easy  to  guess. 

I  am  an  old  man  to-day,  but  I  cannot  yet  trust 
myself  to  try  and  analyze  this  character  of  his.  I 
still  can  only  think  with  tenderness  and  wonder  of 
its  passionate  love  of  nature,  its  unselfish  nobleness, 
its  lack  of  conscience,  and  its  overflowing  heart. 


'5 


A  DRAFT 


ON 


THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


NOT  many  of  us  would  be  eager  to  live  our  lives 
over  again  if  the  gift  of  a  new  life  were  possible  ;  but 
when  I  think  upon  the  goodness  and  grace  and  love 
that  have  these  many  years  gone  side  by  side  with 
mine,  I  doubt  a  little  as  to  how  I  should  decide.  In 
deed,  were  God  to  give  it  me  to  turn  anew  the  stained 
and  dog-eared  pages  of  the  life-book,  it  would  not 
be  for  the  joy  of  labor,  or  to  see  again  the  marvels 
of  growth  in  knowledge,  that  I  should  so  yearn  as 
for  the  great  riches  of  love  which  have  made  for  me 
its  text  and  margins  beautiful  with  the  colors  of 
heaven.  And  so,  when  I  recall  this  life,  and  its  sor 
rows  and  adventures  and  successes,  with  every  mem 
ory  comes  to  me  first  of  all  the  tender  commentary 
of  that  delightful  face ;  and  I  rejoice  with  a  sudden 
following  of  fear  as  I  turn  to  see  it  again,  and  once 
more  to  wonder  at  the  calm  of  sweet  and  thoughtful 
gravity  which  the  generous  years  have  added  to  its 
abundant  wealth  of  motherly  and  gracious  beauty. 

It  is  a  little  story  of  this  matron  and  myself  which 
I  find  it  pleasant  to  tell  you ;  chiefly,  I  suppose,  be- 

171 


Ij2         A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

cause  it  lets  me  talk  of  her  and  her  ways  and  doings, 
— a  very  simple  story,  with  nothing  in  the  least  start 
ling  or  strange,  but  so  cheerful  and  grateful  to  me  to 
think  over  that  I  cannot  but  hope  you  too  may  get 
good  cheer  from  it,  and  like  her  a  little,  and  find 
interest  in  my  old  friend  the  clockmaker  and  his  boy, 
and  haply  come  at  last  to  believe  that  you  would  be 
pleased  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  me,  and  to  give  me  too 
of  such  love  as  you  have  to  spare ;  which,  I  take  it, 
is  for  a  man  to  get  from  man  or  woman  the  most  de 
sirable  of  earthly  things. 

We  had  been  married  a  twelvemonth,  I  think,  and 
were  coming  on  in  years,  she  being  eighteen,  and  I — 
well,  somewhat  older,  of  course.  From  among  gentle 
and  kindly  folks,  long  and  steadily  rooted  in  the  soil 
of  one  of  our  oldest  Dutch  towns  in  Middle  Penn 
sylvania,  we  had  come,  with  good  courage  and  great 
store  of  hopes,  to  seek  our  fortunes  in  the  Quaker 
City,  whose  overgrown-village  ways  always  seem 
to  the  stranger  from  the  country  so  much  more  home 
like  than  the  bullying  bustle  of  its  greater  sister. 

I  smile  now  when  I  think  what  very  young  and 
trustful  people  we  were,  May  and  I,  and  how  full  of 
knowledge  we  thought  ourselves  of  men  and  things. 
I  had  been  bred  an  engineer,  and  when  I  married 
May  was  a  draughtsman  in  a  great  manufactory, 
with  just  enough  of  an  income  to  make  our  marriage 
what  most  folks  would  call  unwise, — an  opinion  in 
which,  perhaps,  I  might  join  them,  were  it  not  that 
so  many  of  these  reckless  unions,  in  which  there  is 
only  a  great  estate  of  love,  have  seemed  to  me  in  the 
end  to  turn  out  so  well. 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


173 


Away  from  broad  fields,  and  laden  barns,  and  my 
father's  great  farmhouse,  and  plenty,  and  space,  we 
came  to  grope  about  for  a  home  among  strangers, 
with  at  least  a  hope  that  somewhere  in  the  city  we 
should  find  a  little  of  what  my  wife's  old  father,  the 
schoolmaster,  used  to  call  "  homesomeness."  With 
great  comfort  in  our  mutual  love,  we  found  for  a  long 
while  no  abiding-place  which  seemed  to  us  pleasant, 
until  at  last  a  happy  chance  brought  us  to  lodge 
within  the  walls  which  for  some  two  years  of  our 
young  married  life  were  all  to  us  that  we  could  ask. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  I  had  to  have  a  watch 
mended,  and  for  this  purpose  walked  into  a  shop  in 
one  of  the  older  streets, — a  place  altogether  deserted 
by  the  rich,  and  not  fully  seized  upon  by  trade. 
There  were  many  great  warerooms  and  huge  store 
houses,  with  here  and  there  between  them  an  old 
house  built  of  red  and  glazed  black  brickrwith  small 
windows  full  of  little  gnarled  glasses,  and  above  them 
a  hipped  roof.  Some  of  these  houses  had  at  that 
time  half  doors,  and  on  the  lower  half  of  one  of  these 
was  leaning  a  man  somewhat  past  middle  life.  The 
window-cases  on  either  side  were  full  of  watches, 
and  over  them  was  a  gilded  quadrant  and  the  name 
F.  WILLOW.  As  I  drew  near,  the  owner — for  he  it 
was — let  me  in,  and  when  I  gave  him  my  watch,  took 
it  without  a  word,  pushed  his  large  spectacles  down 
over  two  great  gray  eyebrows  on  to  eyes  as  gray, 
and  began  to  open  and  pore  over  the  timepiece  in  a 
rapt  and  musing  way. 

At  last  said  I,  "  Well  ?" 

"  In  a  week,"  said  he. 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

"  A  week !"  said  I ;  "  but  how  am  I  to  get  on  for  a 
week  without  it?" 

"Just  so  !"  he  returned.  "  Sit  down  while  I  look 
at  it,  or  come  back  in  half  an  hour." 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  I. 

Without  further  words  he  turned  to  his  seat, 
screwed  into  his  eye  one  of  those  queer  black- 
rimmed  lenses  which  clockmakers  use,  and  began  to 
peer  into  the  works  of  my  sick  watch.  In  the  mean 
while  I  amused  myself  by  strolling  between  the  little 
counters,  and  gravely  studying  the  man  and  his  be 
longings,  for  both  were  worthy  of  regard.  A  man 
of  fifty-five,  I  should  say, — upright,  despite  his  trade, 
— gray  of  beard  and  head, — with  an  eagle  nose  and 
large  white  teeth.  Altogether  a  face  full  of  power, 
and,  as  I  learned,  of  sweetness  when  I  came  to  know 
better  its  rare  smile.  The  head  was  carried  proudly 
on  a  frame  meant  by  Nature  to  have  been  the  envy 
of  an  athlete,  but  now  just  touched  with  the  sad 
shadows  of  fading  strength.  Wondering  a  little  at 
the  waste  of  such  a  frame  in  so  petty  a  toil,  I  began 
to  hear,  as  one  does  by  degrees,  the  intrusive  ticking 
of  the  many  clocks  and  watches  which  surrounded 
me.  First  I  heard  a  great  tick,  then  a  lesser,  then  by 
and  by  more  ticks,  so  as  at  last  quite  to  call  my  at 
tention  from  their  owner.  There  were  many  watches, 
and,  if  I  remember  well,  at  least  a  dozen  clocks.  In 
front  of  me  was  a  huge  old  mahogany  case,  with  a 
metal  face,  and  a  ruddy  moon  peering  over  it,  while 
a  shorter  and  more  ancient  time-piece  with  a  solemn 
cluck,  for  which  at  last  I  waited  nervously,  was  curi 
ous  enough  to  make  me  look  at  it  narrowly.  On 


A  DRAFT  ON   THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


175 


the  top  sat  a  neatly-carved  figure  of  Time  holding  in 
both  hands  an  hour-glass,  through  which  the  last 
grains  were  slowly  dropping.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
whirring  noise  in  the  clock,  and  the  figure  grimly 
turned  the  hour-glass  in  its  hands,  so  that  it  began 
to  run  again.  The  sand  was  full  of  bits  of  bright 
metal, — gold  perhaps, — and  the  effect  was  pretty, 
although  the  figure,  which  was  cleverly  carved, 
had  a  quaint  look  of  sadness,  such  as  I  could 
almost  fancy  growing  deeper  as  he  shifted  the  glass 
anew. 

"  He  hath  a  weary  time  of  it,"  said  a  full,  strong 
voice,  which  startled  me,  who  had  not  seen  the 
clockmaker  until,  tall  as  his  greatest  clock,  he  stood 
beside  me. 

"  I  was  thinking  that,  or  some  such  like  thought," 
said  I,  but  feeling  that  the  man  spoke  for  himself  as 
well  as  for  his  puppet.  "  I  wonder  does  time  seem 
longer  to  those  who  make  and  watch  its  measurers 
all  day  long  ?" 

"  My  lad,"  said  he,  laying  two  large  white  hands 
on  my  shoulders  with  a  grave  smile  and  a  look  which 
somehow  took  away  all  offence  from  a  movement 
so  familiar  as  to  seem  odd  in  a  stranger, — "  my  lad,  I 
fancy  most  clockmakers  are  too  busy  with  turning 
the  dollar  to  care  for  or  feel  the  moral  of  their  tick 
ing  clocks."  Then  he  paused  and  added  sadly,  "  You 
are  young  to  moralize  about  time,  but  were  you 
lonely  and  friendless  you  would  find  strange  com 
pany  in  the  endless  ticking  of  these  companions  of 
mine." 

With  a  boy's  freedom  and  sympathy  I  said  quickly, 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

"  But  is  any  one — are  you — quite  lonely  and  friend 
less?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  he  returned,  abruptly ;  but  he 
added,  looking  around  him,  "  I  have  certainly  more 
clocks  than  friends." 

"  Well,  after  all,"  said  I,  "  Mr.  Willow,  what  is  a 
clock  but  a  friend,  with  the  power  to  do  you  one 
service,  and  no  more  ?" 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  I  have  seen  friends  who 
lacked  even  that  virtue,  but  this  special  little  friend 
of  yours  needs  regulation ;  its  conscience  is  bad. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  call  in  a  week ;  it 
will  take  fully  that  long." 

I  went  out  amused  and  pleased  with  the  man'-s 
oddness,  and  feeling  also  the  charm  of  a  manner 
which  I  have  never  since  seen  equalled.  As  I  passed 
the  doorway  I  saw  tacked  to  it  a  notice  of  rooms  to 
let.  I  turned  back.  "  You  have  rooms  to  let. 
Might  I  see  them  ?" 

"  If  it  please  you,  yes,"  he  said.  "The  paper  has 
been  up  a  year,  and  you  are  the  first  to  ask  about  it. 
You  will  not  wish  to  live  long  in  this  gloomy  place, 
even,"  he  added,  "  if  I  should  want  you." 

Then  he  locked  the  shop-door  and  led  me  up  a 
little  side-stair  to  the  second  story,  and  into  two 
rooms, — the  one  looking  out  on  the  street,  and  the 
other  on  a  square  bit  of  high-walled  garden,  so  full 
of  roses — for  now  it  was  June — that  I  quite  won 
dered  to  find  how  beautiful  it  was,  and  how  sweet 
was  the  breeze  which  sauntered  in  through  the  open 
casement. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "but  did  you  plant  all  these?" 


A   DRAFT  ON   THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


177 


"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  My  boy  and  I  took  up  the 
pavement  and  put  in  some  earth,  and  made  them 
thrive,  as,"  he  added,  "  all  things  thrive  for  him, — 
pets  or  flowers,  all  alike." 

I  turned  away,  feeling  how  quaint  and  fresh  to  me 
was  this  life  made  up  of  clocks  and  roses.  The  rooms 
also  pleased  me,  the  rent  being  lower  than  we  were 
paying ;  and  so,  after  a  glance  at  the  furniture,  which 
was  old  but  neat,  and  observing  the  decent  cleanli 
ness  of  the  place,  I  said,  "  Have  you  any  other 
lodgers  ?" 

"  Two  more  clocks  on  the  stairway,"  he  replied, 
smiling. 

"  My  wife  won't  mind  them  or  their  ticking,"  I 
said.  "  I  am  always  away  until  afternoon,  and  per 
haps  she  may  find  them  companionable,  as  you  do !" 

"  Wife !"  he  said,  hastily.  "  I  shall  have  to  see 
her." 

"All  right!"  said  I. 

"  No  children  ?"  he  added. 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Humph  !  Perhaps  I  am  sorry.  They  beat  clocks 
all  to  pieces  for  company,  as  my  boy  says." 

"  Only  my  wife  and  I,  sir.  If  you  do  not  object, 
I  will  bring  her  to  look  at  the  rooms  to-morrow." 

As  I  turned  to  leave,  I  noticed  over  the  chimney- 
place  a  tinted  coat-of-arms,  rather  worn  and  shabby. 
Beneath  it  was  the  name  "  Tressilian,"  and  above  it 
hung  a  heavy  sabre. 

As  I  walked  away  I  mused  with  a  young  man's 
sense  of  romance  over  the  man  and  his  trade,  and 
the  history  which  lay  in  his  past  life, — a  history  I 


If g         A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

never  knew,  but  which  to  this  day  still  excites  my 
good  wife's  curiosity  when  we  talk,  as  we  often  do, 
of  the  clocks  and  the  roses. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  delight  that  my  little  lady 
found  in  our  new  home,  to  which  we  soon  after 
moved.  It  was  a  warm  summer  afternoon,  as  I  well 
remember.  The  watchmaker  and  his  boy,  whom  I 
had  not  yet  seen,  were  out,  and  the  house  was  in 
charge  of  a  stout  colored  dame,  who  was  called 
Phoebe,  and  who  was  never  without  a  "  misery"  in 
her  head. 

My  May  followed  our  trunks  up-stairs,  and  went 
in  and  out,  and  wondered  at  the  coat-of-arms  and 
the  sabre ;  and  at  last,  seeing  the  roses,  was  down 
stairs  and  out  among  them  in  a  moment.  I  went 
after  her,  and  saw,  with  the  constant  joy  her  pleas 
ures  bring  to  me,  how  she  flitted  like  a  bee  to  and 
fro,  pausing  to  catch  at  each  blossom  a  fresh  per 
fume,  and  shaking  the  petals  in  a  rosy  rain  behind 
her  as  her  dress  caught  the  brambles. 

"  May,"  said  I  at  last,  "  you  have  demolished  a 
thousand  roses.  What  will  their  owner  say  ?  Look  ! 
there  is  Mr.  Willow  now." 

Then,  like  a  guilty  thing,  caught  in  her  innocent 
mood  of  joy  and  mischief,  she  paused  with  glowing 
cheeks,  and  looked  up  at  the  window  of  our  room, 
whence  Mr.  Willow  was  watching  her,  with  the  lad 
beside  him.  "  Oh,  what  a  scamp  I  am,  Harry  !"  said 
she,  and  in  a  moment  had  plucked  a  moss-rose  bud, 
and  was  away  up-stairs  with  it. 

When  I  reached  the  room  she  was  making  all  sorts 
of  little  earnest  excuses  to  the  watchmaker.  "  But  I 


A  DRAFT  ON   THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

have  spoilt  your  rose-harvest,"  she  said.  "  Will  you 
let  me  give  you  this  one  ?"  and  as  I  entered  the  man 
was  bending  down  in  a  way  which  seemed  to  me 
gracious  and  even  courtly,  a  moisture  in  his  eyes  as 
she  laughingly  pinned  the  bud  to  the  lappel  of  his 
threadbare  coat. 

"  Well,  well !"  he  said.  "  It  is  many  and  many  a 
day  since  a  woman's  hand  did  that  for  me.  We  must 
make  you  free  of  our  roses, — that  is,  if  Arthur  likes." 

The  lad  at  this  said  gravely,  "  It  would  give  me 
the  greatest  pleasure,  madam." 

I  smiled,  amused  that  the  little  woman  should  be 
called  madam  in  such  a  reverential  fashion,  while  she 
retreated  a  step  to  see  the  effect  of  her  rose,  and  then 
would  arrange  it  anew.  They  made  freshness  and 
beauty  in  the  old  wainscoted  chamber, — the  man, 
large  and  nobly  built,  with  a  look  of  tenderness  and 
latent  strength  ;  the  girl,  full  of  simplicity  and  grace, 
hovering  about  him  with  mirthful  brown  eyes  and 
changeful  color;  the  lad,  tall,  manly,  and  grave, 
watching  with  great  blue  eyes,  full  of  wonder  and  a 
boy's  deep  worship,  her  childlike  coquetries  and 
pretty  ways.  From  that  day  forward  father  and  son, 
like  another  person  I  know  of,  were  her  humble 
slaves,  and  from  that  day  to  this  the  wily  little  lady 
has  only  gone  on  adding  to  her  list  of  willing  vas 
sals. 

It  was  early  agreed  that  the  clockmaker,  his  son, 
and  ourselves  should  take  meals  in  common  in  our 
little  back  room,  which,  under  my  wife's  hands,  soon 
came  to  look  cheerful  enough.  By  and  by  she  quietly 
took  control  of  the  housekeeping  also,  and  with 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

Phoebe's  aid  surprised  us  with  the  ease  in  which  we 
soon  began  to  live.  But  as  to  the  roses,  if  they  had 
thriven  in  the  care  of  Arthur  and  his  father,  they  now 
rioted,  if  roses  can  riot,  in  luxury  of  growth  over 
wall  and  trellis,  and,  despite  unending  daily  tributes 
to  make  lovely  our  table  and  chamber,  grew  as  if 
to  get  up  to  her  window  was  their  sole  object  in  life. 
I  have  said  those  were  happy  days,  and  I  doubt  not 
that  for  others  than  ourselves  they  were  also  delight 
ful.  Often  in  the  afternoon  when  coming  back  from 
my  work,  I  would  peep  into  the  shop  to  see  the 
watchmaker  busy  with  his  tools,  the  lad  reading 
aloud,  and  my  wife  listening,  seated  with  her  needle 
work  between  the  counters.  Often  I  have  stayed 
quiet  a  moment  to  hear  them  as  the  lad,  perched  on 
a  high  stool,  would  sit  with  a  finger  in  his  book, 
making  shrewd  comments  full  of  a  strange  thought- 
fulness,  until  the  watchmaker,  turning,  would  listen 
well  pleased,  or  May  would  find  her  delight  in  urging 
the  two  to  fierce  battle  of  argument,  her  eyes  twink 
ling  with  mischief  as  she  set  about  giving  some  ab 
surd  decision,  while  the  clocks  big  and  little  ticked 
solemnly,  and  the  watches  from  far  corners  made  faint 
echoes.  Or  perhaps,  in  the  midst  of  their  chat,  all 
the  clocks  would  begin  to  strike  the  hour,  and  on  a 
sudden  the  watchmaker  would  start  up  from  his  seat 
and  stride  toward  some  delinquent  a  little  late  in  its 
task,  and  savagely  twist  its  entrails  a  bit,  and  then 
back  to  his  seat,  comforted  for  a  time.  My  May  had 
all  sorts  of  queer  beliefs  about  these  clocks  and  their 
master,  and  delighted  to  push  the  hands  a  little  back 
or  forward,  until  poor  Willow  was  in  despair.  One 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN.         l%l 

hapless  bit  of  brass  and  iron,  which  was  always  five 
minutes  late  in  striking,  she  called  the  foolish  virgin, 
and  at  last  carried  off  to  her  room,  explaining  that 
it  was  so  nice  to  get  up  five  minutes  late,  and  the 
clock  would  help  her  to  do  it ;  with  other  such  pleas 
ant  sillinesses  as  might  have  been  looked  for  from  a 
young  person  who  kept  company  with  idle  roses  and 
the  like. 

But  if  the  clockmaker  and  my  wife  were  good 
friends,  the  lad  and  she  were  sworn  allies,  and  just 
the  frank,  wholesome  friend  she  has  since  been  to 
my  boys  she  was  then  to  young  Willow.  His  white 
mice  and  the  curiously  tame  little  guinea  pig,  which 
had  been  taught  not  to  gnaw  the  roses, — hard  sen 
tence  for  those  cunning  teeth  of  his ! — were  hers 
in  a  little  while  as  much  as  the  boy's,  and  the  two 
had  even  come  at  last  to  share  his  favorite  belief 
that  the  solemn  old  battered  box-turtle  in  the  garden 
had  been  marked  with  "  G.  W."  by  General  Wash 
ington,  and  was  to  live  to  be  the  last  veteran  of  '76. 
I  used  to  propose  in  my  unheroic  moments  that  the 
old  fellow  should  apply  for  a  pension,  but  my  jeers 
were  received  with  patience,  and  this  and  other  boy- 
beliefs  rested  unshaken. 

There  are  many  scenes  of  our  quiet  life  of  those 
days  which  are  still  present  to  me  in  such  reality  as 
if  they  were  pictures  which  I  had  but  to  open  a  gal 
lery  door  to  see  anew.  The  watchmaker  seems  to 
me  always  a  foremost  figure  in  my  groups.  He  was 
a  man  often  moody,  and  prone  when  at  leisure  to  sit 
looking  out  from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows  into 
some  far-away  distance  of  time  and  space ;  almost 

16 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

haughty  at  times,  and  again  so  genial  and  sunshiny 
and  full  of  good  talk  and  quick-witted  fancies  that  it 
was  a  never-ceasing  wonder  to  us  unmoody  young 
folks  how  these  human  climates  could  change  and 
shift  so  strangely.  His  wintry  times  were  sadly  fre 
quent  when,  as  we  came  to  know  him  better,  he 
ceased  to  make  efforts  to  please,  and  yielded  to  the 
sway  of  his  accustomed  sadness.  The  boy  made  a 
curious  contrast,  and  was  so  full  of  happy  outbursts 
of  spirits  and  mirth,  so  swiftly  changing  too,  with  an 
ever-brightening  growth  of  mind,  that  beside  his 
father  no  one  could  fail  to  think  of  him  as  of  the 
healthful  promise  of  the  springtide  hour.  And  as 
for  my  wife,  in  his  better  times  the  watchmaker  had 
a  pretty  way  of  calling  her  "  Summer,"  which  by  and 
by,  for  his  own  use,  the  lad  made  into  "  Mother  Sum 
mer,"  until  at  length  the  little  lady,  well  pleased  with 
her  nicknames,  answered  to  them  as  readily  as  to  her 
lawful  titles. 

I  used  to  think  our  happiest  days  were  the  bright 
Sundays  in  the  fall  of  the  last  year  of  our  long  stay 
with  the  Willows.  We  had  taken  up  the  habit  of 
going  to  the  Swedes'  Church,  which  in  fact  was  the 
nearest  to  our  house,  and  surely  of  all  the  homes  of 
prayer  the  quaintest  and  most  ancient  in  the  city. 
Always  when  the  afternoon  service  was  over  we  used 
to  wander  a  little  about  the  well-filled  churchyard 
and  read  the  inscription  on  Wilson's  grave,  and  won 
der,  with  our  boy-friend,  who  knew  well  his  story,  if 
the 'many  birds  which  haunted  the  place  came  here 
to  do  him  honor.  Pleasant  it  was  also  to  make  our 
way  homeward  among  old  houses  long  left  by  the 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN.         ^^ 

rich,  and  at  last  to  find  ourselves  sauntering  slowly 
up  the  wharves,  quietest  of  all  the  highways  on  Sun 
day,  with  their  ships  and  steamers  and  laden  market- 
boats  jostling  one  another  at  their  moorings,  like 
boys  at  church,  as  if  weary  of  the  unaccustomed 
stillness.  Then,  when  the  day  was  over,  we  were  in 
the  habit  of  sitting  in  the  open  doorway  of  the  shop 
watching  the  neatly-dressed  Sunday  folk,  lulled  by 
the  quiet  of  the  hour  and  the  busy,  monotonous 
ticking  of  the  little  army  of  clocks  behind  us,  while 
my  wife  filled  our  pipes,  and  the  talk,  gay  or  grave, 
rose  and  fell. 

On  such  an  early  October  evening  came  to  us  the 
first  break  in  the  tranquil  sameness  of  our  lives.  We 
had  enjoyed  the  evening  quiet,  and  had  just  left  the 
garden  and  gone  into  the  shop,  where  Mr.  Willow 
had  certain  work  to  do,  which  perhaps  was  made 
lighter  by  our  careless  chat.  By  and  by,  as  the  night 
fell,  one  or  two  sea-captains  called  in  with  their  chro 
nometers,  that  they  might  be  set  in  order  by  the 
clockmaker.  Then  the  lad  put  up  and  barred  the 
old-fashioned  shutters,  and  coming  back  settled  him 
self  into  a  corner  with  a  torn  volume  of  "  Gulliver's 
Travels,"  over  which  now  and  then  he  broke  out  into 
great  joy  of  laughter,  which  was  not  to  be  stilled 
until  he  had  read  us  a  passage  or  two,  whilst  between- 
times  my  wife's  knitting-needles  clicked  an  irregular 
reply  to  the  ticking  clocks,  and  I  sat  musing  and 
smoking,  a  little  tired  by  a  long  day's  work. 

At  last  the  watchmaker  paused  from  his  task  and 
called  us  to  look  at  it.  It  was  some  kind  of  register 
ing  instrument  for  the  Coast  Survey, — a  patent  on 


1 84 


A   DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


which  he  greatly  prided  himself.  Seven  or  eight 
pendulums  were  arranged  in  such  a  manner  that  their 
number  corrected  the  single  error  of  each  escapement. 
Further  I  do  not  remember,  but  only  recall  how  we 
marvelled  at  the  beautiful  steadiness  of  the  movement, 
and  how  my  wife  clapped  her  hands  joyously  at  the 
happy  end  of  so  much  toil  and  thought. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  the  watchmaker,  rising.  "  Let 
us  look  how  the  night  goes ;"  for  it  was  a  constant 
custom  with  him  always  before  going  to  bed  to  stand 
at  the  door  for  a  little  while  and  look  up  at  the  heav 
ens.  He  said  it  was  to  see  what  the  weather  would 
be,  a  matter  in  which  he  greatly  concerned  himself, 
keeping  a  pet  thermometer  in  the  garden,  and  noting 
day  by  day  its  eccentricities  with  an  interest  which 
no  one  but  my  wife  ever  made  believe  to  share.  I 
followed  him  to  the  open  door,  where  he  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  side-post,  looking  steadily  up  at  the 
sky.  The  air  was  crisp  and  cool,  and  overhead,  thick 
as  snow-flakes,  the  stars  twinkled  as  if  they  were 
keeping  time  to  the  ticking  clocks.  Presently  my 
wife  came  out,  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  arm  stood 
beside  us  and  drank  in  the  delicious  calm  of  the 
autumn  night,  while  the  lad  fidgeted  under  his  elbow 
between  them,  and  got  his  share  of  the  starlight  and 
the  quiet. 

"  It  seems  hard  to  think  they  are  all  moving  for 
ever  and  ever,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  wonder  if  they  are 
wound  up  as  often  as  your  clocks,  father  ?" 

"  It  is  only  a  great  clock,  after  all,"  said  Willow, 
"  and  must  stop  some  of  these  days,  I  suppose.  Did 
ever  you  think  of  that,  little  Summer  ?" 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


I85 


"  Will  last  our  time,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Your  time  !"  returned  the  clockmaker.  "  Your 
time  is  forever,  little  woman :  you  may  live  in  the 
days  not  of  this  world  to  see  the  old  wonder  of  it  all 
fade  out  and  perish." 

Just  then  a  man  stopped  in  front  of  us  and  said, 
"Does  Mr.  Willow  live  here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  and  as  he  came  toward  us  we 
naturally  gave  way,  thinking  him  some  belated  cus 
tomer,  and  he  entered  the  lighted  shop. 

Then  Willow  turned  again,  and  the  two  men  came 
face  to  face.  The  stranger  was  a  man  of  great  height, 
but  spare  and  delicate.  He  leaned  on  a  gold-headed 
cane  somewhat  feebly,  and  seemed  to  me  a  person  of 
great  age.  What  struck  me  most,  however,  was  the 
ease  and  grace  of  his  bearing  and  a  certain  elegance 
of  dress  and  manner.  The  moment  Willow  set  eyes 
on  him  he  staggered  back,  reeled  a  moment,  and, 
catching  at  a  chair,  fell  against  the  tall  clock  over 
which  he  had  set  the  figure  of  Time.  "  What  has 
brought  you  here  ?"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 

"  My  son,  my  boy,"  said  the  elder  man,  in  a  voice 
shaken  by  its  passion  of  tenderness.  "  Can  you 
never,  never  forget  ?" 

"  Forget !"  said  the  other.  "  I  had  almost  come  to 
that,  but,  remembering  anew,  how  can  I  ever  forgive  ? 
Go !"  he  cried,  fiercely,  darting  forward  on  a  sudden 
and  opening  the  door.  "  Go,  before  the  madness 
comes  upon  me.  Go,  go  before  I  curse  you."  Then 
he  reeled  again,  and  growing  white,  fell  into  a  chair, 
and  as  if  choked  with  emotion,  stayed,  rigidly  point 
ing  to  the  door. 

1 6* 


1 86         A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

Then  my  wife  ran  forward.  "  Leave  us,"  she  said, 
"whoever  you  are.  You  see  how  ill  he  is.  You 
can  do  no  good  here.  Come  again  if  you  will,  but 
go  away  now." 

The  stranger  hesitated  and  looked  in  bewilderment 
from  one  to  another,  while  the  lad,  till  then  silent, 
opened  the  door  wider  and  said,  gently,  "  Will  it 
please  you  to  go,  grandfather  ?" 

"  My  boy — his  boy !"  exclaimed  the  new-comer, 
patting  his  curly  head.  "  Now  am  I  indeed  pun 
ished,"  he  added,  for  the  lad  shrunk  back  with  a  look 
of  horror  quite  strange  on  a  face  so  young,  and, 
suddenly  covering  his  face  with  both  hands,  the 
elder  man  went  by  him  and  passed  out  into  the  street 
without  a  word.  Then  the  boy  hastily  shut  the  door, 
and  we  turned  to  Willow,  who  had  fallen  in  some 
thing  like  a  swoon  from  his  chair.  Silently  or  with 
whispers  we  gathered  about  him,  while  my  wife 
brought  a  pillow  and  some  water  and  gave  him  to 
drink.  At  last  we  got  him  up-stairs  to  our  own 
room,  where  for  some  days  he  lay  in  a  state  of  feeble 
ness  which  seemed  to  me  very  strange  in  one  so 
vigorous  but  a  little  while  before.  On  the  next 
morning  after  his  attack  he  showed  some  uneasiness, 
and  at  length  was  able  to  bid  us  take  down  the 
painted  arms  over  the  fireplace  and  hide  them  away ; 
but  beyond  this  he  gave  no  sign  of  what  he  had  passed 
through,  and  by  slow  degrees  got  back  again  very 
nearly  his  wonted  habits  and  mode  of  life. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  so  strange  an  event  could 
hardly  take  place  in  our  little  household  without 
awakening  the  curiosity  of  two  people  as  young  and 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN.         ^j 

romantic  as  May  and  I.  Indeed,  I  greatly  fear  that 
the  little  lady  so  far  yielded  to  the  impulses  of  her 
sex  as  even  to  question  young  Willow  in  a  round 
about  way;  but  the  lad  was  plainly  enough  schooled 
to  silence,  and  you  had  only  to  look  at  his  square, 
strongly-built  chin  to  learn  how  hopeless  it  would  be 
to  urge  him  when  once  his  mind  was  made  up.  He 
only  smiled  and  put  the  question  by  as  a  man  would 
have  done,  and  before  us  at  least  neither  father  nor 
son  spoke  of  it  again  during  the  next  month. 

The  pleasant  hazy  November  days  came  and  went, 
and  one  evening  on  my  return  home  I  learned  that 
Mr.  Willow  had  suffered  from  a  second  attack  of 
faintness,  and  from  my  wife  I  heard  that  the  lad  had 
let  fall  that  his  grandfather  had  called  once  more,  and 
that  the  two  men  had  had  another  brief  and  bitter 
meeting.  The  following  morning,  as  I  went  to  my 
work,  I  saw  the  stranger  walking  to  and  fro  on  the 
far  side  of  the  street.  Nothing  could  be  more  piti 
able  than  his  whole  look  and  bearing,  because  nothing 
is  sadder  to  see  than  a  man  of  gentle  breeding  so 
worn  with  some  great  sorrow  as  to  have  become 
shabby  from  mere  neglect  of  himself.  He  peered 
across  the  street,  looked  up  at  the  windows  and  at 
the  shop,  and  at  last  walked  feebly  away,  with  now 
and  then  a  wistful  look  back  again, — such  a  look  as 
I  saw  once  in  my  life  in  the  great  eyes  of  a  huge 
watch-dog  whom  we  left  on  the  prairie  beside  the 
lonely  grave  of  his  master. 

From  this  time  onward,  all  through  a  severe  win 
ter,  he  haunted  the  neighborhood,  once  again,  and 
only  once,  venturing  to  speak  to  the  clockmaker,  to 


!88         A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

whom  his  constant  presence  where  he  could  hardly 
fail  to  see  him  at  times  became  a  torture  which  was 
plainly  wearing  his  life  away.  Twice  also  he  spoke 
to  the  boy,  and  once  urged  him  to  take  a  little  pack 
age  which  we  supposed  might  have  been  money.  At 
last  my  anxiety  became  so  great  that  I  spoke  to  him 
myself,  but  was  met  so  coldly,  although  with  much 
courtesy,  that  I  felt  little  inclined  to  make  the  same 
attempt  again. 

I  learned  with  no  great  trouble  that  he  lived  quietly 
during  this  winter  at  one  of  our  greater  hotels,  that 
he  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  ample  means,  and  that  his 
name  was  Tressilian,  but  beyond  this  I  knew  no 
more.  He  came,  at  last,  to  be  a  well-known  figure 
in  our  neighborhood,  as  he  wandered  sadly  about 
among  rough  porters  and  draymen  and  the  busy 
bustle  of  trade.  His  visits  to  our  house,  and  his 
questions  about  Mr.  Willow,  were  added  sources  of 
annoyance  to  the  latter,  who  rarely  failed  to  look 
gloomily  up  and  down  the  street,  to  make  sure  of 
his  absence,  before  he  ventured  out  of  doors. 

Under  this  system  of  watching  and  worry,.  Mr. 
Willow's  attacks  grew  at  last  more  frequent,  and  as 
the  spring  came  on  my  good  wife  became,  as  she  said, 
worked  up  to  that  degree  that  she  at  last  made  up 
her  feminine  mind ;  and  so  one  fine  morning  sallied 
out  and  had  her  own  talk  with  the  cause  of  our 
troubles. 

I  think  the  good  little  woman  had  determined  to 
try  if  she  could  reconcile  the  father  and  son.  She 
came  to  me  in  the  evening  a  good  deal  crestfallen,  and 
with  very  little  of  the  blessedness  of  the  peacemaker 


A  DRAFT  ON   THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN.          i%g 

in  her  face.  While  Mr.  Willow  was  out  she  had  sent 
his  son,  who  was  keeping  guard  in  the  shop,  on  an 
errand,  and  had  then  actually  brought  the  stranger 
into  the  house,  where,  refusing  to  sit  down,  he  had 
wandered  to  and  fro,  talking  half  coherently  at  times, 
and  at  last  urging  her  to  induce  his  son  to  speak 
with  him  once  more.  As  to  their  cause  of  quarrel 
he  was  silent.  "A  lonely,  sad  old  man,"  said  my 
wife.  He  said  he  would  kneel  to  his  boy,  if  that 
would  do  good,  but  to  go  away,  to  go  away  and  leave 
him,  that  he  could  not  do, — that  he  would  not  do. 
God  would  bless  her,  he  was  sure ;  and  might  he  kiss 
her  hand?  and  so  went  away  at  last  sorrow-stricken, 
but  wilful  to  keep  to  his  purpose. 

Perhaps  my  wife's  talk  may  have  had  its  effect, 
because  for  a  month  or  two  he  was  absent.  Then  he 
came  and  asked  at  the  door  for  Willow,  who  was  out, 
and  for  a  while  haunted  the  street,  until  late  in  the 
spring,  when  we  saw  him  no  longer. 

Meanwhile,  Willow  had  become  more  feeble, 
and  a  new  trouble  had  come  to  our  own  modest 
door. 

Many  years  have  since  gone  by,  and  happier  for 
tunes  have  been  ours, — brave  sons  and  fair  daugh 
ters,  and  more  of  this  world's  gear  than  perhaps  is 
good  for  us  to  leave  them, — but  to  this  day  I  remem 
ber  with  discomfort  that  luckless  evening.  I  hastened 
home  with  the  news  to  my  wife ;  and  what  news  to 
two  trustful  young  folks,  who  had  married  against 
the  will  of  their  elders,  and  had  seen,  as  yet,  no  cause 
to  regret  their  waywardness  ! 

"  May,"   said   I, — and    I    can   recall   how  full  my 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

throat  felt  as  I  spoke, — "  May,  I — I  am  thrown  out 
of  work.  The  company  is  lessening  its  staff,  and  I 
am  to  be  discharged." 

I  thought  the  little  woman  would  have  been 
crushed,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  I,  who  meant  to 
comfort  her,  who  was  the  beaten  one. 

"  Well,  Harry,"  said  she,  in  a  cheery  way,  "  I  did 
not  suppose  it  would  last  forever." 

Man  though  I  was,  I  sat  down  and  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands.  We  were  very  young,  and  very, 
very  poor.  I  had  been  offered,  not  long  before,  a 
place  in  the  West,  but  our  little  treasury  was  very 
low,  and  to  secure  the  position  with  a  probable  fu 
ture  of  success  required  some  hundreds  of  dollars, 
so  that  we  had  not  dared  to  give  it  another  thought ; 
and  now,  at  last,  what  were  we  to  do  ? 

"Do!"  said  May.  "Why But  kiss  me, 

Harry, — you  haven't  kissed  me  since  you  came 
in." 

I  kissed  her,  rather  dolefully  I  fear.  "  We  can't 
live  on  kisses,"  said  I. 

"  Not  as  a  steady  diet,"  she  replied,  laughing. 
"  Perhaps  this  may  have  good  news  for  us ;"  and  so 
saying,  she  handed  me  a  letter. 

I  opened  it  absently  and  glanced  over  it  in  haste. 
"  Misfortunes  never  come  single,  May,"  said  I. 

"  No,  my  darling,"  she  answered,  laughing ;  "  they 
only  come  to  married  people,  to  make  them  good 
girls  and  boys,  I  suppose.  What  is  it,  you  grumpy 
old  man  ?" 

I  read  it  aloud.  It  was  a  request — and  a  rather 
crusty  one  too — from  a  bachelor  cousin  to  return  to 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN,         igi 

him  a  small  sum  which  he  had  lent  us  when  we  were 
married.  He  had  met  with  certain  losses  which 
made  it  needful  that  he  should  be  repaid  at  once. 

"  Any  more  letters,  May  ?"  said  I,  ruefully. 

"Nonsense!"  said  she.  "Let  us  think  about  it 
to-morrow." 

"What  good  will  sleeping  on  it  do?"  I  replied. 
"  Do  you  expect  to  dream  a  fortune  ?" 

"  I  have  dreamed  a  good  many,"  she  said,  "  in  my 
time,  and  all  for  you,  you  ungrateful  fellow.  Now 
suppose " 

"  Well,  suppose  what?"  said  I,  crossly. 

"  Suppose,"  she  returned, — "  suppose  we  two  laugh 
a  little." 

That  woman  would  have  laughed  at  anything  or 
with  anybody. 

"  I  can't  laugh,  May,"  said  I.  "  We  are  in  a  rather 
serious  scrape,  I  assure  you." 

"  Scrape  !"  said  she.  "  Old  age  is  a  scrape,  but  at 
twenty-two  all  the  good  things  of  time  are  before  us; 
and — and  God,  my  darling,  has  he  not  been  very, 
very  good  to  us  two  sparrows,?" 

"But,  May,"  said  I,  "it  is  not  myself  I  think  of; 

"  Me,  I  suppose, — me.  Do  you  know  how  rich  I 
am,  Harry  ?  It  seems  to  me  I  never  can  be  poor. 
There's,  first,  your  love, — that  is  twenty  thousand 
dollars ;  then  there  is  that  dear  old  bearded  face  of 
yours, — that  is  ten  thousand  more ;  then  there  is  all 
the  rest  of  you, — that's  ever  so  much  more ;  and  then 
there  are  my  Spanish  castles *" 

"  May,  May,"  said   I,  "  if  castles   in  Spain   would 


192 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


aid  us,  I  would  gladly  enough  help  you  to  build 
them  ;  but  for  my  part " 

"  For  my  part,"  she  broke  in,  "  castles  in  Spain 
do  help  me.  They  help  me  to  get  over  the  shock  of 
this  horrid  bother,  and  to  gain  a  little  time  to  steady 
myself.  Indeed,  I  think  if  I  were  to  draw  a  big 
check  on  the  Rothschilds  at  this  very  moment,  it 
would  ease  me  a  bit.  It  would  ease  me,  you  see, 
even  if  they  did  not  pay  it." 

"  May,  May  !"  said  I,  reproachfully. 

"  Now,  Harry,"  she  cried,  laughing,  "  I  must  laugh 
and  have  my  nonsense  out.  I  can't  cry,  even  for  you. 
Let  us  go  out  and  have  a  good  long  walk,  and  to 
morrow  talk  over  this  trouble.  We  shall  live  to 
smile  at  the  fuss  we  have  made  about  it.  So,  change 
your  coat  and  come  with  me;  I  was  just  dressed  to 
go  out  to  meet  you." 

"  Well,  May,"  I  said,  "  if  only " 

"If! — fiddlesticks!"  she  cried,  putting  her  hand 
over  my  mouth  and  pushing  me  away.  "  Hurry,  or 
we  shall  be  late." 

I  don't  often  resist  the  little  lady,  and  so  I  went 
as  she  bid  me,  and  by  and  by  coming  back,  there 
was  May  laughing  and  making  absurdly  merry  over 
a  bit  of  paper  on  the  desk  before  her.  I  leaned  over 
her  shoulder  and  said,  "  What  is  it,  sweetheart?" 

"  Riches,"  said  she. 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  I. 

"  What  a  relapse  !"  cried  the  wifey.  "  So  you 
despise  gold,  do  you  ?  See  what  I  have  been  doing 
for  you  while  you  have  been  idling  in  the  next 
room." 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


193 


"  What  is  it  ?"  said  I,  laughing,  for  not  to  laugh 
when  she  laughed  was  simply  out  of  the  question. 

She  gave  me  the  paper,  and  I  read  just  this  pretty 
stuff: 

"  The  Bank  of  Spain,  please  pay  to  Bearer  (who, 
the  benevolent  bank  should  know,  is  out  of  place 
and  out  of  humor,  and  owes  money  not  of  Spain) 
One  Thousand  Dollars. 

"$iooo.  "THE  BEST  OF  WIVES." 

We  left  the  order  and  the  wretched  letter  on  the 
desk,  and  went  merrily  down-stairs,  full  once  more 
of  hope  and  faith,  comforted  somehow  by  so  little  a 
thing  as  this  jest  of  hers.  I  made,  as  I  remember,  a 
feeble  effort  to  plunge  anew  into  my  griefs,  but  May 
rattled  on  so  cheerfully,  and  the  laugh  and  the  smile 
were  so  honest  and  wholesome,  that  good  humor 
could  no  more  fail  to  grow  in  their  company  than  a 
rose  refuse  to  prosper  in  the  warm  sweet  suns  of 
June.  I  have  loved  that  woman  long,  and  have  greatly 
loved  her  afresh  for  the  good  and  tender  things  I 
have  seen  her  do,  but  it  was  on  the  summer  evening 
of  our  trouble  I  first  learned  that  I  could  love  her 
more,  and  that  truly  to  love  is  but  to  grow  in  all 
knowledge  of  such  courage  and  winning  sweetness 
and  gallant,  cheery  endurance  as  she  showed  me 
then,  just  as  it  were  for  a  little  glimpse  of  the  gra 
cious  largeness  of  this  amazing  blessing  which  had 
fallen  into  my  poor  lap  and  life. 

That  warm  June  afternoon  was  filled  full  for  me 
of  those  delightful  pictures  which  I  told  you  have 


I94         A  DRAFT  ON   THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 

hung,  with  others  more  or  less  faded,  in  the  great 
gallery  of  art  which  adorns  my  Spanish  castle.  There 
are  bits  by  a  rare  artist  of  the  long-gone  gables  and 
»hip-roofs  and  half  doors  which  used  to  make  old 
Swanson  Street  picturesque.  There  is  one  little 
group  of  boys  just  loosed  from  school,  ruddy  and 
jolly,  around  a  peanut-stand,  alike  eager  and  penni 
less,  while  behind  them  May — reckless,  imprudent 
May ! — is  holding  up  a  dime  to  the  old  woman,  and 
laughing  at  the  greedy  joy  that  is  coming  on  a  sud 
den  over  the  urchins'  faces  as  the  nuts  become  a 
possible  possession. 

We  were  great  walkers  in  those  days ;  and  as  we 
walked  and  the  houses  and  poor  suburbs  were  left 
behind,  and  we  gained  the  open  roads  which  run 
wildly  crooked  across  the  Neck,  it  was  pleasant  to 
feel  that  we  had  escaped  from  the  tyranny  of  right 
angles.  It  was  the  first  time  we  had  gone  south  of 
the  city,  and  we  found  there,  as  you  may  find  to-day, 
the  only  landscape  near  us  which  has  in  it  something 
quite  its  own,  and  which  is  not  elsewhere  to  be  seen 
near  to  any  great  city  in  all  our  broad  country.  It 
has  helped  me  to  one  or  two  landscapes  by  Dutch 
artists,  which  will  fetch  a  great  price  if  ever  my  heirs 
shall  sell  the  Spanish  castle. 

Wide,  level,  grassy  meadows,  bounded  by  two 
noble  rivers,  kept  back  by  miles  of  dikes ;  formal 
little  canals,  which  replace  the  fences  and  leave  an 
open  view  of  lowing  cattle;  long  lines  of  tufted  pol 
lard  willows,  shock-headed,  sturdy  fellows  ;  and  here 
and  there  a  low-walled  cottage,  with  gleaming  milk- 
cans  on  the  whitewashed  garden  palings;  and,  be- 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


195 


tween,  glimpses  of  red  poppies,  tulips,  and  the  like, 
while  far  away  in  the  distance  tall  snowy  sails  of 
hidden  hulks  of  ships  and  schooners  move  slowly  to 
and  fro  upon  the  unseen  rivers.  4 

Charming  we  found  it,  with  a  lowland  beauty  all 
its  own,  lacking  but  a  wind-mill  here  and  there  to 
make  it  perfect  of  its  kind.  Along  its  heaped-up 
roads  we  wandered  all  that  summer  afternoon,  until 
the  level  sun  gleamed  yellow  on  the  long  wayside 
ditches,  with  their  armies  of  cat-tails  and  spatter- 
docks  and  tiny  duckweed  ;  and  at  last  the  frogs  came 
out,  both  big  and  small,  and  said  or  sung  odd  bits 
of  half-human  language,  which  it  pleased  the  little 
woman  to  convert  into  absurd  pieces  of  advice  to 
doleful  young  folks  such  as  we.  She  would  have 
me  pause  and  listen  to  one  solemn  old  fellow  who 
said,  I  am  sure,  "  Good  luck !  good  luck !"  and  to 
another  sturdy  brown-backed  preacher,  who  bade 
us  "  Keep  up  !  keep  up  !"  with  a  grim  solemness  of 
purpose  most  comforting  to  hear.  Then  we  stopped 
at  a  cottage  and  saw  the  cows  milked,  which  seemed 
so  like  home  that  the  tears  came  into  my  wife's 
eyes ;  and  at  last  we  had  a  bowl  of  sweet-smelling 
milk,  and  then  turned  homeward  again,  the  smoke 
of  my  pipe  curling  upward  in  the  still  cool  evening 
air. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  reached  home. 
As  we  went  up  the  side  stair  which  opened  on  the 
street  by  a  door  of  its  own,  I  put  my  head  into  the 
shop  and  bade  Mr.  Willow  good-night.  He  was 
seated  at  his  bench  studying  the  strange  swing  of 
the  many  pendulums  of  his  new  instrument,  but  in 


196 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN 


place  of  the  pleased  look  which  the  view  of  his  com 
pleted  task  usually  brought  upon  his  face,  it  was  sad 
and  weary,  and  he  merely  turned  his  head  a  moment 
to  answer  my  salute.  On  the  stairs  we  met  Phcebe, 
who  was  greatly  troubled,  and  told  us  that  a  little 
while  before  dusk,  Mr.  Willow  and  his  son  being  out, 
the  stranger  had  called,  and  asking  for  my  wife, — 
for  the  little  lady,  as  he  called  her, — had  pushed  by 
the  maid  and  gone  up-stairs,  saying  that  he  would 
wait  to  see  her.  Phcebe,  alarmed  at  his  wild  manner, 
had  kept  watch  at  our  door  until  her  master  came 
back.  Then  she  had  heard  in  our  room,  where  the 
son  and  father  met,  fierce  and  angry  words,  after 
which  the  old  man  had  gone  away  and  the  clock- 
maker  had  retired  to  his  shop.  All  that  evening  we 
sat  in  the  darkness  of  our  room  alone,  thinking  it 
best  not  to  disturb  Mr.  Willow  and  his  lad,  who  were 
by  themselves  in  the  shop.  About  ten  the  boy  came 
up,  bade  us  a  good-night,  and  soon  after  we  ourselves 
went,  somewhat  tired,  to  bed. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  as  usual  we  slept 
.  rather  later  than  common.  After  dressing  I  went 
into  the  back  room,  and,  throwing  up  the  window, 
stood  still  to  breathe  the  freshness  of  the  time.  The 
pigeons  were  coquetting  on  the  opposite  gables  and 
housetops,  and  below  me,  in  the  garden,  the  rare 
breezes  which  had  lost  their  way  in  the  city  were 
swinging  the  roses  and  jessamines  like  censers,  till 
their  mingled  odors  made  rich  the  morning  air. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  cry  of  surprise,  and  turning, 
saw  my  May,  prettier  and  fresher  than  any  roses  in 
her  neat  white  morning-dress.  Her  face  was  full  of 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN.         IQJ 

wonder,  and  she  held  in  her  hands  the  papers  we  had 
left  on  the  table  the  night  before. 

"  What  is  it  now,  May?"  said  I. 

"  Look !"  she  said,  holding  up  her  draft  on  the 
Bank  of  Spain. 

Beneath  it  was  written,  in  a  bold  and  flowing  hand, 
"  Paid  by  the  Bank  of  Spain,"  and  pinned  fast  to  the 
paper  was  a  bank-note  for — I  could  hardly  credit 
my  eyes — one  thousand  dollars.  We  looked  at  one 
another  for  a  moment,  speechless.  Then  May  burst 
into  tears  and  laid  her  head  on  my  shoulder.  I  can 
not  understand  why  she  cried,  but  that  was  just  what 
this  odd  little  woman  did.  She  cried  and  laughed 
by  turns,  and  would  not  be  stilled,  saying,  "  Oh, 
Harry,  don't  you  see  I  was  right  ?  God  has  been 
good  to  us  this  Sabbath  morning." 

At  last  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  tried  to  make 
her  see  that  the  money  was  not  ours,  but  then  the 
little  lady  was  outraged.  She  called  Phoebe,  and 
questioned  her  and  young  Willow  in  vain.  Neither 
knew  anything  of  the  matter,  and  my  own  notion  as 
to  its  having  been  a  freak  of  the  English  stranger  she 
utterly  refused  to  listen  to. 

It  was  vast  wealth  to  us  needy  young  people,  this 
thousand  dollars,  and  as  it  lay  there  on  the  table  it 
seemed  to  me  at  times  unreal,  or  as  if  it  might  be  the 
dreamed  fulfilment  of  a  dream,  soon  to  vanish  and 
be  gone.  My  wife  must  also  have  had  some  such 
fancy,  for  she  was  all  the  time  running  back  and  for 
ward,  now  handling  the  note,  and  now  turning  to  cry 
out  her  gratitude  and  thankfulness  upon  my  breast. 

To  this  day  we  know  not  whence  it  came,  but  as 
17* 


198 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE   BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


Willow's  father  was  plainly  a  man  of  wealth,  and  as 
he  had  spoken  in  words  of  strong  feeling  to  my  wife 
of  the  little  service  she  had  tried  to  render  him,  I 
came  at  last  to  believe  that  the  gift  was  his.  At  all 
events,  we  heard  no  more  of  the  giver,  whoever  he 
may  have  been.  I  trust  that  he  has  been  the  better 
and  happier  for  all  the  kind  and  pleasant  things  my 
wife  has  said  of  him,  and  for  the  earnest  prayers  she 
said  that  night. 

While  we  were  still  talking  of  the  strange  gift, 
young  Willow  suddenly  returned,  and,  after  waiting 
a  moment,  found  a  chance  to  tell  us  that  his  father's 
room  was  empty,  and  to  ask  if  we  knew  where  he 
could  be.  I  felt  at  once  a  sense  of  alarm,  and  ran 
up-stairs  and  into  Mr.  Willow's  chamber.  The  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in.  Then  I  went  hastily  down  to 
the  shop,  followed  by  my  wife  and  the  lad.  On 
opening  the  door  the  first  thing  which  struck  me  was 
that  the  clocks  were  silent,  and  I  missed  their  ac 
customed  ticking.  This  once  for  years  they  had  not 
been  wound  up  on  Saturday  night,  as  was  the  clock- 
maker's  habit.  I  turned  to  his  workbench.  He  was 
seated  in  front  of  it,  his  head  on  his  hands,  watching 
the  pendulums  of  his  machine,  which  were  swinging 
merrily.  "  Mr.  Willow,"  said  I,  placing  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  "  are  you  sick  ?"  He  made  no  answer. 

"  Why  don't  he  speak  ?"  said  May,  with  a  scared 
face. 

"  He  will  never  speak  again,  my  darling,"  I  replied. 
"  He  is  dead  !" 

I  have  little  to  add  to  this  simple  story.     On  in- 


A  DRAFT  ON  THE  BANK  OF  SPAIN. 


199 


quiry  I  found  that  the  stranger  had  left  the  city.  No 
claimant  came  for  our  money,  and  so,  after  a  little, 
having  buried  Mr.  Willow  in  the  Old  Swedes'  church 
yard,  we  went  away  with  his  son  to  the  West.  The 
lad  told  us  then  that  it  was  his  father's  desire  that  on 
his  death  he  should  take  his  true  name.  An  evil  fate 
went  with  it,  and  to-day  young  Tressilian  lies  in  a 
soldier's  nameless  grave  beneath  the  giant  shadows 
of  Lookout  Mountain, — one  more  sweet  and  honest 
life  given  for  the  land  he  had  learned  to  love  and 
honor. 


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